Republic Commando: Burdens
by Toft
Summary: The clone commandos in Sigma Squad have more to contend with than Separatists alone--a distraught Padawan, a Jedi General under pressure, and their own ghosts from the past. It's Clone Wars drama at its best!
1. Invincible, Clones, Emotions

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. Credit goes to George Lucas, LucasArts, and Karen Traviss._

_Note: I originally wrote this first part in three sections (each titled), and I decided to combine them since they were so short. This first part sets up the squad and Amiel, and the next parts setup the bigger plot. Hope you like it. Reviews are very much welcome! This whole series has actually been written in a completely different writing style from how I usually write. So I appreciate any feedback--things you hate, like, and stuff about characters would be great! Okay. I'll be quiet now. :)  
_

Invincible

He was invincible. At least, he was supposed to be. You grow up learning one thing over and over again and you become--there's a word for it--indoctrinated. All it takes is one slip, and your world shatters.

She thought she could escape what was left of her world by hiding in the barracks. It was the first place she went once the ship released the soldiers. She sat rigidly on the bed and took out her datapad, her chest clenching tight when she saw the message, the grim reality that she had been trying to hide from.

_Vannevar, M. Jedi Master. KIA._

The datapad dropped from her hands, rolled off of her lap, and hit the permacrete floor with a crunch. Mechanically, she stood and went into the refresher. She let her robe drop to the floor, then she peeled out of her tunic, the fabric caked with dark blood. It was his blood because she had been right there when the explosion happened. He saw her in his last moments.

He was supposed to be invincible. He was supposed to finish her training.

The shower turned on with the push of a button and she stepped in, closing the stall door behind her. The water was frigid and she let it stay frigid for a few seconds. She shivered, wrapped her arms around herself, and wept. It wasn't hard for her, merely a Padawan, to let her thoughts spiral, to think on things that were not allowed to be thought. Like how Master Vannevar was the first man under the age of thirty to ever talk to her, and how he had violet eyes.

The water turned off after five minutes as the conservation programming dictated. Stepping numbly out of the stall, she dried herself and took out her clean tunic, leaving the bloodied one on the floor. Some semblance of Vannevar was still on that fabric, and she couldn't do away with it. Maybe not ever.

There was a knock on the door, then a clone came in. He was a commando named Oni who had served with her and Master Vannevar, and he radiated authority. "Amiel?" he asked. He wasn't wearing his helmet and his brown eyes were hard and full of determination despite losing his Jedi commander.

Amiel looked plainly at Oni, waiting for him to speak.

"We've been reassigned a new CO. I suppose she will also be your new Master." Amiel looked as if she was about to weep. Oni, a sergeant and much brighter than the Padawan, became confused. "Amiel?" he asked again.

"I thought it was only clones who died," Amiel whispered.

Oni straightened rigidly, the muscles around his jaws tensing. Voice devoid of resentment, Amiel could only detect the dark cloud in the Force that, for a brief moment, nearly engulfed him. "Everyone dies," said Oni. He turned and left. The sound of the door closing resonated in Amiel's chest.

Clones

Amiel sat in the mess hall and feigned eating. The squad sat with her and went on about something or other, tired and willing to forget what had happened. But not Amiel. Food and thoughts alike nauseated her.

"Hey," Jatne said, nodding at the Padawan. "You're going to pass out if you don't eat."

Amiel's eyes settled on Jatne for a moment, but she said nothing. Oni didn't look up from his tray as he scarfed down his food.

"Let her do what she wants. If she wants to rot, then she'll rot," Gev muttered. "_Di'kut_."

"Stop using that stupid language!" Amiel barked.

The four commandos all seemed to freeze in place, each of their eyes--all the isame/i--orienting on the Padawan. Morj seemed about ready to throttle her.

"Calm down," Gev retorted, one eyebrow arched.

"Is this about your Master?" Jatne asked. He wasn't asking out of concern. It was curiosity.

"Yes, you idiot! Can't you clones figure out emotions? My Master is _dead_!"

None of the commandos knew what to say or do, but each of them managed to form a new opinion about teenaged girls. The squad looked to Jatne to continue the conversation, as he had involuntarily volunteered himself to do so.

"Well, first off," Jatne said slowly, "we're not emotionless droids. And you're lecturing the wrong folks if you think you're going to out-drama us. We _know_ what it's like. We're on the same team here."

Amiel fell silent and looked down at her lap. She was going to burst into tears at any moment, and the squad seemed to be holding its breath for it.

"How about instead of yelling at us, you let us help you?" Jatne asked. Morj seemed to give him a look that said no-I'd-rather-clean-'freshers.

Amiel stood up and walked out of the mess hall.

"That went splendidly," Gev said. He took a long swig of water. "I think I'm starting to miss General Vannevar, too."

"Poor _shabuir_," Oni said ambiguously enough to lack sarcasm.

"I hope she deserts," Morj grumbled, mouth full.

Jatne heaved a sigh and rested his chin on his hand.

Oni pointed his fork at Jatne. "You've got that look on your face--the 'I'm trying to make up for something' look. Drop it."

Jatne frowned. "But don't you feel _bad_? What about when Mal--"

Morj dropped his fork and Jatne realized he had said something wrong. He fell silent.

Emotions

Jatne stood in front of the door to Amiel's room, which was adjacent to the squad's. They could hear her sobbing even if she didn't want them to, and Oni _had_ to put a stop to it.

"Go talk to her," he had said to Jatne.

"What? But you're the squad leader!"

Gev and Morj watched them like a holodrama.

"Yeah, and that's an order," Oni said, almost proud of himself for saving his own skin from a teenaged girl. "We can't have the Padawan in that sort of state when the new CO comes in. It's irresponsible."

"You have a big mouth, _Jat'ika_," Gev chuckled.

Now he was standing in front of the door. He had been waiting there for a couple of minutes, and chances were that the Padawan could already sense him. Or maybe she couldn't. He didn't know. He didn't care, either--he would rather see the girl shipped off than crack under the pressure. Not because he cared about what happened to her, but because he didn't want to be there when she broke. It was a delicate situation, and Jatne didn't handle things that were delicate. That was Morj's job.

Finally, Jatne knocked. The sniffling in the room silenced. "Come in," she said wearily.

Jatne stepped in sheepishly.

"Hi, Morj," Amiel said.

Jatne forced a laugh. "It's Jatne, actually."

Amiel covered her face with her hands and shook her head. "Sorry! It's just--your imprints--the Force... I thought you were Morj."

The bottom lid of Jatne's eye twitched just slightly, a minor indication of annoyance that he picked up. He was about to say something when Amiel spoke first.

"I'm sorry. Tell the squad I'm sorry."

Jatne let out a long breath, his chest depressing as the muscles relaxed. "Don't worry about it. Everyone's first battle is shoddy and it always leaves you feeling bad." Jatne wished he were lying because he was raised to be perfect. But the truth was, Geonosis was a disaster.

"I'm sorry I called you names. I thought nobody would understand, but I've been blind. I can sense the burdens that you carry, and I can't even comprehend them." Amiel let out a soft sigh, and her long eyelashes settled momentarily on the tops of her cheeks. A young girl mixed up in problems way above her head. Her hazel eyes fixed on him earnestly. "What happened to you, Jatne?"

Jatne let himself lean backwards, the back of his armor clanking softly with the door in resignation. She had already sensed the turmoil he tried to conceal. "Lost half my squad on Geonosis. Sev and I... they had two openings in two different squads, so we got split up. I see him sometimes, but Dem and Reg--we'll never see them again."

Amiel nodded. "So Oni's squad lost someone to have room for you."

"Yes. His name was Mal."

Amiel's brow furrowed. "That was Master Vannevar's first name."

Jatne grinned and shrugged. "Small galaxy." Then Jatne went out on a limb. "What was your Master like? I only saw him a few times."

Amiel wrung her hands in her lap as she spoke. "He was... very kind," she said. She had to work to say "was." "And he was a good teacher. He didn't care that my lightsaber technique is bad, and he always told me that I 'could only get better.' I wish he was still here."

Jatne nodded. He missed Dem and Reg terribly, but "wishing" got a person nowhere.

"I told Oni that I thought only clones died. I'm such a fool." Amiel shook her head. "I shouldn't be thinking these things and acting out. This anger... I've never felt it before."

"It's natural to feel angry about things you can't control."

"It's not _Jedi_."

"I don't know anything about being a Jedi," Jatne said. "But I've always been taught to tackle my problems head-on. I don't see how avoiding them solves anything."

Amiel simply stared at him, seemingly more hopeless than before. She looked so young--perhaps only a few years older than his biological age.

"Maybe your new Master will have better insight than me. I'm just a clone."

"You're a soldier. And you're very kind for coming to check on me, even after I said horrible things." Amiel looked embarrassed. Jatne was the second man under the age of thirty who had ever been nice to her.

One corner of Jatne's mouth raised slightly. Another old habit he picked up because sometimes situations called for something that wasn't quite a smile. "I should be going," Jatne said.

"Wait!" Amiel had bolted upright. Maybe she didn't want him to leave. "What's a... dee-koot?"

"It's someone who forgets to wear pants," Jatne explained, then he hurried back to the squad.


	2. Jedi, Mandalorians, Friends

_A/N: The next three parts! Some necessary character development before stuff goes down._

_Inu'ika, thanks for your reviews! Hopefully I can answer your questions right here. "Viin'ika" is a word I put together, "viin" meaning "to run" and then "'ika", well, we got that. I wanted it to mean "little runner" in reference to Amiel. :) Secondly, yes, I know that Oni means "ogre/demon" in Japanese (I took four years of Japanese in high school), and I spent a lot of time deliberating over that. His number designation is RC-4111, so I wanted to have his name be some derivative of the number "one". For a while I had it spelled "Onee", pronounced the same as "Oni", but I couldn't help but read it like "Oneesan" ("older sister"), so I bit the bullet and spelled it "Oni". It's a stretch going from "one" to "Oni", but I went with it anyway. I've had Sigma Squad mapped out in my head for almost four years now. Sheesh, that's kinda sad!  
_

Jedi

Signe Amrun. Jedi Master. The words had a bitter taste attached to the responsibility thrust upon her. A Jedi Knight one day, and a Master the next--and all it took was a couple of missions. War was like that, she supposed: full of surprises and unwanted happenstances.

_I'm not ready for this._

And then there was Sigma Squad. Meeting up with her old friends detracted from the dread of her new responsibilities, which included looking after a young teenaged girl. Signe's own teenaged years weren't so far behind her that she forgot what a handful they were. Still, the squad's expertise could handle the technical aspects of the mission while Signe wrangled with her new Padawan.

With only brief hesitation, Signe knocked, then opened the door to the room she would be sharing with her Padawan. It was empty. Truly empty. Signe searched it with her own eyes even though she trusted the absence in the Force, and all she found was a bloody tunic on the floor.

Signe ran next door and burst into Sigma's room. "She's gone. Amiel's gone!"

Jatne and Morj looked up from the game of sabacc they had been playing. The squad was in red fatigues, and they looked up at Signe with almost bemused gazes.

"General, I'm sure she's not far," Jatne assured her.

"I'll com security and see if she left the barracks. Are you _sure_ she didn't leave briefly?" Oni asked.

Signe shook her head. "All of her things are missing. Lightsaber and everything. I sensed something strange in the room." Signe frowned. Not "strange"... _familiar_.

"Ma'am, are you suggesting that we go after her? In Triple _Zero_?" Gev asked. "I mean, I have trouble finding my gloves in the morning."

"Gev's right--even if we aren't complete _di'kuts_ like he is, trying to find one Padawan in Triple Zero... well, it would be easier to get Jatne to punch a baby," Morj said.

_This really_ is _impossible_.

"She's my responsibility," Signe stated firmly. "I would do the same for each of you." The squad fell into silence for a few moments. Then Morj spoke.

"General, will something happen to you if your Padawan isn't found?"

Signe looked over at him with a hard frown. "Maybe. But either way, we have to try."

"Amiel was upset about losing General Vannevar. Is it possible she went to the Jedi Temple to seek counsel?" Jatne suggested. "Or... y'know, whatever it is you do."

"No. I would suspect she wouldn't have run off to go somewhere that would drop her back where she started. The presence she left in the room..." Signe trailed off momentarily, raising her eyes to the ceiling. "It wasn't someone who sought the non-sympathy of Jedi."

Oni silently moved to his kit and put his helmet over his head. After a few moments of unheard conversation, he reported: "Security doesn't have any record of her leaving as of now, but it's not above a Padawan to sneak out. I'll alert CSF and GAR personnel in the city. Ma'am, I hate to say this, but there's nothing else we can do."

Signe fidgeted in place. The squad was waiting for her to protest--they were ready to argue their point until one side gave in or fell asleep on its feet. "Okay," she said finally.

Gev got up and put his hands on his hips, looming over her. The Jedi Master was tall for the standard woman, but a commando even out of armor was an intimidating figure. "If you go all moral superiority on us, we're going to smother you in your sleep."

Signe guffawed, and immediately covered her mouth to squelch the outburst of mirth. It was out of line for anyone to say, but Signe wasn't one to hold her position over an old friend's head. "I'm just _worried_."

"She's a big girl. She can handle herself," Oni said after he took off his helmet. Signe didn't sense that he believed what he said, but Oni was one to placate even if it was a lie. "CSF and GAR personnel have been alerted to contact you immediately if they see anything."

"Thank you, Oni," Signe said.

Gev reached out and gave her a playful shove in the shoulder. "First day on the job as a Master and you already lost your Padawan. You're no better than us."

It was a bold statement for anyone but Gev. Morj looked broody and climbed onto one of the bunks, and Jatne smiled bitterly.

"_Shabuir_," Signe said under her breath. The squad let out a hesitant chuckle.

"Already cursing like a Mando, are you, General? How unbecoming." Gev got that idiosyncratic, lob-sided grin of his. "Before you know it, you'll be whipping out your lightsaber and killing people indiscriminately."

"Wow, a six-syllable word, Gev?" Jatne teased.

"I blame all of your bad examples," Signe retorted with feigned insult.

"It's getting late, General," Morj said loudly from his new perch on the top bunk.

Signe took the hint. It had been a long day for them. Gev ruffled her hair and moved back to his bunk, then they said their good-nights.

Signe returned to her empty room. The air had a weight that pulled on Signe's gut. It was unbridled grief, it was fear, it was anger. This room was filled with the Dark Side. As a Padawan, this would have made Signe run in the other direction. But a lot had happened since then, and Signe had felt the Dark Side erupt in her own actions during battle. She wasn't ashamed of it because it had saved lives.

Signe settled uneasily on the bed, scooting against the wall and putting a pillow behind her back. She couldn't sleep--she _wouldn't_ sleep, because there was a fourteen-year-old girl that had just lost everything she had come to know and, yes, _love_. The Padawan had been yanked into a world where lives disappeared in seconds. It was the real world, but it was worse. It was war.

Pulling her knees to her chest, Signe pressed her forehead into the crook between her kneecaps, and waited for her com to ring.

Mandalorians

Her lungs burned and her legs ached. There was no hiding from reality, the one where there were no mentors and no stories of glory and no triumph over evil. This was the reality where heroes were murdered and men with the same faces but different hearts existed to kill and die. Amiel carried a dark cloud like Jatne, like Morj--but Amiel was going to take charge. She was going to _run_.

It was as if there was no war at all. Coruscant went about its daily business, late-night commuters leaving their jobs and going home. Some paused to watch the girl with the braid and plain tunic race past them, but few would question her. Large buildings encased in transparisteel windows surrounded her, and she was lost. Her Master was dead. Did it matter where she was?

The crowd began to thin, and the path she was treading upon took on a downward slant. It became darker. Amiel looked over her shoulder. There was nobody behind her.

_Clang!_

Amiel hit something hard and staggered backward, belatedly trying to steady herself with reflexes that should have prevented the collision in the first place. Before she managed to stand up straight, a hand reached out and grabbed her by the collar.

Amiel's eyes went wide as she stared into the T-visor of a helmet. It was like Oni's, but it was green and the faceless visor was black.

"_Shab_," the Mandalorian said.

"Y-You're a girl?" Amiel asked incredulously.

"Let's go, Padawan," the Mandalorian practically grumbled. She started walking with Amiel in tow, the young girl struggling a little.

"I--how do you know I'm a Padawan?" Amiel stammered.

"Are you kidding?" the Mandalorian asked. Her voice had a scolding quality, which Amiel would have likened to a mother if she ever knew one. "There's a bounty on your head for two million creds."

"A bounty?" Amiel nearly shrieked. Then she sucked in a gasp of air. "A _bounty_?" she repeated at a whisper.

"Oh, yes." Amiel heard the Mandalorian scoff. In her surprise, Amiel hadn't noticed the venomous sarcasm right away.

Amiel was led into a building that she soon discovered to be a... restaurant, she supposed. It was horribly lit and smelled like sweat and liquor. The Mandalorian stopped in front of a booth and gave Amiel a gentle push into it. "Wait here. _Cyn'ika_, keep an eye on her." The Mandalorian briskly walked away.

Looking to her left, Amiel discovered she was sitting next to another Mandalorian. But she was a mini-version of the Mandalorian woman--maybe half her height and also clad in green armor. Her helmet was sitting on the table in front of her. She had rosy cheeks and red hair, green eyes, and the weight of an unseen burden unfathomable to Amiel.

"Hi!" said the girl.

Amiel appeared to be on the brink of tears.

The girl noticed and frowned. "Are you sad?"

"No, I'm _lost_!"

"It's okay. _Am'buir_ found you!"

Amiel put folded her arms on the table and laid her head down.

"Did you not want to be found? Did you lose the game?" the girl asked. She drummed her fingers on the top of her helmet impatiently when Amiel didn't answer her. "Hello?"

"Yes, I lost the game," Amiel muttered miserably.

"I'll play again with you," the young girl offered.

Amiel looked over at the little girl. "Will you let me go? I need to run."

"From what?"

Amiel faltered and grasped for words. "Everything. I guess."

"So you're running to nothing?" the little girl asked. She squinted, pensive.

"I don't know," Amiel admitted.

"Just wait for _Am'buir_. She'll know what to do."

The older Mandalorian woman returned several moments later and beckoned Amiel to her feet. "Oni and your new Master are going to pick you up. We're meeting them topside. Now, are you going to come quietly with me, or will I have to restrain you?" The Mandalorian wasn't threatening her--in fact, Amiel sensed that she thought she was being diplomatic.

The girl popped on her helmet and clambered out of the booth. She grabbed Amiel's hand. "C'mon! We're going for a walk!"

Amiel became a study of confusion. "But... how do you know Oni?" she asked the Mandalorian.

"Have they not spoken of me?" the Mandalorian chuckled. "I'm Amyr Meshkad. Sigma Squad's old training sergeant."

A memory of right before the battle flooded back to Amiel, something Gev said... "The old crone would have your _gett'se_ in her fist if she heard you say that, Jatne!" _This_ was the old crone?

"And this is Tracyn, my daughter," Amyr said, indicating the girl hanging off of Amiel's arm.

"Oh," Amiel said numbly. She managed a smile. "Hello. I'm Amiel Kurr."

"We know," Amyr said. "GAR and CSF were alerted to your desertion, and so was I. Apparently your Master wants you back."

Amiel let her head hang. Hearing the word "desertion" suddenly altered her hopes of finding freedom. "All right. I'll go with you."

"Follow me," Amyr instructed. Tracyn led Amiel by the hand and they followed Amyr Meshkad out of the undercity pub.

They waited on a landing pad after a short cab ride. Amiel studied her boots while they waited, and the two Mandalorians seemed to be having a private conversation over their coms. The Padawan noted that little Tracyn had a small blaster pistol in a thigh holster, and for some reason that disturbed her.

Amiel looked up suddenly as the sound of a LAAT/i transport ship approached the strip, landing in an elegant curve. A commando and a Jedi jumped out of the open hold. The Jedi was tall and lanky with a boyish face and shorn-short hair. She was eager but restrained and she had deep creases in her forehead. She was nothing like Vannevar.

"Padawan Amiel Kurr?" the Jedi asked.

"Y-Yes." Amiel straightened.

"Master Signe Amrun." She held her hand out to her. Amiel shook it and met a strong grip that pulled her a little closer to the Master. Signe said through her teeth, still smiling: "We need to talk." She let go.

Behind the Jedi, Amyr Meshkad had approached the clone--Oni--and tapped the forehead of her helmet to his. Tracyn bounced and tugged at the commando's hand until he knelt down so she could tap helmets with him, too.

"Thank you, Sergeant," the Jedi Master said graciously to Amyr.

"It's just Amyr, _Sig'ika_. I suspect you'll take good care of my boys, won't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Signe Amrun said, still clinging to the authoritative term. There was the slightest hint of hesitation in her response.

Back at the barracks, Amiel followed her Master into the room they had to share. Her new Master went into the refresher and picked up the bloody tunic that was on the floor. She stared at it in her hands, and Amiel's heart began pounding.

_That's Master Vannevar. That's all I've got left._

Without looking at the Padawan, the Jedi Master dropped the tunic down the trash chute.

Amiel's throat closed tightly and Signe Amrun finally lifted her eyes to look at her. "I'm sorry. Did you want to keep that?"

Amiel shook her head slowly.

"Good. Don't carry burdens you don't have to."

Friends

"Commander?"

Amiel was sitting on her knees on the parade ground. She looked like a blue rock on the flat turf. Her eyes were closed. "What?"

"Just saying 'hello'."

Amiel sensed it was Jatne. It was vaporous, but there was a distinct sense of guilt about him no matter where he went. Him and Morj both. But Morj had a more distinct sense of anger--his guilt was a stranglehold on his throat.

Opening her eyes, Amiel looked up at the clone who was standing beside her. He was wearing red fatigues. His shirt was tucked in--she noticed earlier that Gev left his out. "Hello," she said.

"Mind if I sit down?"

"Go ahead."

Jatne sat on his knees like Amiel and imitated her pose. "Are you meditating?"

"Yes." Amiel stared across the parade ground where her Master was talking to a group of clone troopers who were in their armor.

"Does it make you feel better?" Jatne's voice was devoid of condescension. He really wanted to know.

"Sometimes."

Jatne grinned. "Sometimes," he repeated.

"If you're going to bother me about deserting, don't waste your time. Master Amrun nags enough for the whole squad." Amiel kept her eyes focused on a point across the parade grounds.

"I'm not here to nag, _viin'ika_," Jatne said.

Amiel didn't say anything at first. "Everybody expects me to get over his death. And I know I should, but..."

"It's hard," said Jatne. "It takes time."

"I know that. But I'm a Jedi. It should take _will power_."

Jatne shook his head and lightly touched the tips of his fingers to Amiel's shoulder. "You've got too much going on to force anything. No pun intended."

Amiel smiled. It was the first time someone had told her to let go of her training. "Thanks, Jatne," she said. It felt... liberating.

Jatne tilted his head. "You're welcome, Commander."

They both sat in contented silence for several minutes. They watched Master Amrun continue to talk to the troopers, and it seemed as if the business portion of their meeting was over. A couple of troopers were showing off by displaying some grapples they had learned, which had Master Amrun laughing and teasing them.

"Amiel," Jatne said.

"Yes?" Amiel looked at him.

"Yesterday, when I came in to see you--why did you think I was Morj?"

Amiel pursed her lips. "It's hard to explain."

"I'll try and keep up." Jatne had deep creases in his forehead and a wall of determination that was pushing on Amiel.

"It's guilt," Amiel said. "I sense a burden of guilt on both of you. But it's heavier on Morj, and, Jatne, you hide it much better." Amiel forced herself to look at him with a little smile.

He was staring down at the ground in front of his knees. "Morj," he started, trailing off.

"He's not very pleasant," Amiel blurted.

Jatne turned his head toward her, the absent look replaced with a grin. "Commander!" he nearly scolded.

"What? He _isn't_."

"Morj has a lot of _osik_ on his back." Jatne pushed himself to his feet and stretched his back by sticking out his waist. A few cracks came from his vertebrae.

Amiel looked up at him and squinted from the light of the sun. She wanted to pursue the topic, but it seemed Jatne was intent on leaving.

"Go back to meditating, _viin'ika_," Jatne said.

Amiel nodded. Jatne stuck his hands into the pockets of his fatigues and walked away, whistling. Amiel forgot to ask him what "veen eeka" meant.

---

"What did our little runner have to say, _Jat'ika_?"

"I think she'll be okay," Jatne said. He was standing at the door to their room, and Gev was lounging on his bed with his datapad resting on his stomach. "Now that General Amrun is here, I doubt we'll have any more problems."

"I still can't figure out something," Gev said after a moment of thought.

"What's that?"

"Whether or not Commander Kurr has _gett'se_."

"She ran away from her duty," said Jatne. "That's dishonorable."

"But, _Jat'ika_, her duty is to fight a war and order clones around. Have you seen Commander Kurr lately? She looks like she belongs in a school uniform." Gev said up, eyebrows lifted emphatically. "And look at _us_."

"This is starting to sound like treason," Jatne muttered. He climbed onto his bunk and sat with his legs dangling over the edge. "So maybe Commander Kurr has _gett'se_. Let's not get too carried away."

Gev grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Okay." Gev's grin got a little wider. "Since Commander Kurr only talks to you, do you think--"

"I know what you're about to ask, and no," Jatne said.

"So you're not going to follow in Oni's footsteps, _ner vod_?"

One side of Jatne's mouth curved. He snorted. "I don't want to get in trouble with the Jedi. If you want to talk about _gett'se_..."

Gev burst out laughing. "Oni has enough for all of us."


	3. Love

_A/N: I'm going to post the last three parts as separate chapters. Also, I just figured out how the review reply feature works (it's in my email, duuuuh!), so there you go. I'm a little rusty at because the last time I used it was four years ago. Anyway, hope you like this one! It might be my favorite._

Love

_One Month Later_

"So, General."

Signe Amrun was slipping into her tunic.

"How long are we going to pretend these sorts of things never happened?"

Signe looked over at the clone and ran her hands over her hair, smoothing it down. She sported a grin. "I've got a few more months in me to keep a secret."

"I've got years," Oni replied. "But how long until people really start to notice?"

Gev already knew, but Signe refrained from telling Oni. As the squad's leader, he would take it into his own hands to keep Gev quiet. Perhaps permanently. "It'll be all right, _On'ika_," Signe smiled.

Oni was a wall of determination. "What if someone finds out?" he persisted.

Signe walked right up to Oni and poked him in the nose. "Then we hope it's someone we don't like so we can kill them." Oni's brow lowered. Perhaps he was trying to gauge if the Jedi was joking or not, so Signe clarified. "I'm kidding. If the squad finds out, they'll keep quiet."

"They'd better," Oni grumbled. Signe brushed the back of her hand against his cheek and thought about the first time she had done it months ago. She was still a Knight then, and Oni was the sniper.

Signe placed a kiss on the side of Oni's neck and tried to avoid thinking about the end of their break. Oni couldn't. "We're leaving in three hours."

_Oh, right. The mission._ Two days of reprieve in the barracks had distracted her, and she wasn't very guilty for letting it happen. "I'll see to our _viin'ika_."

Oni tilted his head. "Have you talked to her about Jatne?"

"How can I? It would make me a hypocrite." Signe smoothed down her hair again and looked away. "I can't tell her to cease her feelings any more than I could control my feelings for you. It's useless."

Oni put his hands on Signe's shoulders and stared into her eyes. "If you're worried about what it will do to her on the field, then stop. We'll help you protect her." Signe squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.

"I should get going," she murmured.

Oni grabbed Signe's hand. She stared at him, startled, her hand clamped in his grip. His dark eyes were glassy. She lingered.

Back in Signe's room, Jatne and Amiel were sitting on the Padawan's bed. Jatne nodded and said "Ma'am," to Signe as she entered, then looked back at Amiel with a grin. "Well?"

"_Ni copaani buy'ce gal_," Amiel said slowly.

"What are you teaching her?" Signe asked with mock authority.

"How to order a pint of ale," Jatne replied, beaming. "It's very important."

Amiel puffed up her cheeks. "You told me that was how to find the 'fresher!"

Jatne laughed. Signe folded in her lips to hide a smile. Amiel radiated contentment in Jatne's presence.

"I'll teach you that, too, Commander," Jatne went on. "But I've got to get going. General," Jatne nodded again to Signe, then waved goodbye to Amiel before leaving.

Under her Master's gaze, Amiel fidgeted and busied herself sorting the few possessions she had on her bed.

"We're off on our next assignment in three hours. I'll see you at the briefing in 30 minutes, all right?"

Amiel nodded. Signe moved into the 'fresher to take a shower, and the distance between them remained.

---

"We're Sigma squad. We're here to rescue you," Oni said breathlessly.

The Republic governor, Grenel Fach, seemed unnaturally calm for a politician who spent most of his time in an office. "Nice to meet you." An explosion topside rocked the underground shelter.

Gev hauled Grenel Fach to his feet by the back of his shirt and shoved him. "Keep your head down if you want to keep it," he instructed.

"No expensive armor for me? I do pay taxes, you know. Oh, hello," he said to Signe and Amiel, who were monitoring the dark corridor.

"Hi," Amiel said meekly. Signe rolled her eyes.

"Nothing to be afraid of, Governor," Jatne said as the three commandos and two Jedi made their way back out of the Separatist shelter. Morj was waiting under cover above them, having set charges to blow the place. "We'll be in a ship back to Republic space in no time."

"Thank you, soldier."

They reached the turbolift out of the shelter. Amiel and Signe had to skewer a couple of Seps on the way out, which Grenel Farr watched unblinking.

"You're a tough guy," Jatne commented on the turbolift.

"I had a military career before this job, soldier. What's your name? And give me the real one, not the number."

"Jatne," Jatne replied. Signe noted a small welling of pride inside of him.

"Expert work, Jatne. All of you. I hope to work with you in the future."

"No, don't do that," Gev muttered. "This armor pinches you in places you didn't know you had."

Grenel Fach snorted.

"Took you long enough," Morj greeted them as they tramped out of the turbolift. They started moving immediately, and after they were clear, Oni detonated the charges.

"I like your style," Grenel Fach yelled over the chaos.

"Shut up and move!" Oni snapped. Droids had oriented on them and gave chase, blasters firing. Morj attached the grenade launcher to his DC-17 and started taking them out in large chunks.

Gev and Morj shoved the governor along, who ran with his head down and his arms covering him. Signe was running backwards as best she could, deflecting blaster bolts with her yellow and green lightsabers. Jatne forced Amiel to run in front of him, and Oni lead the way through the valley.

Barely audible above the noise of battle, a LAAT/i transport soared overhead. It was trailed by the blaster fire of an enemy anti-aircraft, which missed and hit the rock face above them.

"_Shab_!" Oni yelled.

"Who's that gunner?" Gev shouted. "I ought to--"

Gev didn't get to finish his sentence as the debris from the shots rained down on both them and the pursuing droids. Signe coughed and checked her person, shaking dust and small pebbles off of her as she looked frantically around for the others. Amiel was right beside her curled up into a ball, and Signe helped her to her feet. Oni was hauling Morj up and Gev skirted around a boulder, swearing loudly, Grenel Fach in tow.

The LAAT/i swooped and hovered over them. The first person to be hauled into the crowded hold was the governor, then Signe was pulled in against her will, followed by Gev and Morj.

"Jatne!" she shouted. "Where's Jatne?"

"We've only got room for two more, General!" one of the troopers shouted.

Amiel scurried away from the grabbing clone's arms because she was the next important-ranking officer. "Jatne!" she called out. Oni came up beside her and motioned for her to follow him, and they found Jatne lying flat on his back, one of his legs crushed under a boulder. A Separatist warship appeared above them out of the clouds, en route to engage.

Oni froze. Amiel felt his mind go blank, then suddenly his arm reached out and grabbed her roughly by the elbow. "Jatne!" Amiel screamed. "What about Jatne?"

Oni was silent. His mind went cold.

"Jatne!" she continued to scream his name over and over again. The sympathetic troopers inside the LAAT/i secured her under the arms and dragged her into the hold, and Oni followed. The LAAT/i lifted without waiting, and Oni stared down as the ground disappeared below them.

---

Signe stepped into the squad's refresher and the door sealed shut behind her. She could see Oni sitting in the shower stall in his black bodysuit. Cautiously, she went and sat down on her knees beside him, silent. He said nothing and didn't look into her eyes; he simply leaned sideways until his head rested in her lap. She couldn't sense anything definitive from him, but being in his presence made her stomach twist into a tight knot.

"I never wanted to be squad leader," Oni said finally.

"I know," Signe whispered.

"When we left Mal in the droid factory and I became squad leader, I swore I would never leave a brother behind again." Oni's voice was gravelly.

"It's okay." But it wasn't.

"I left my brother to the Seps. He's wounded. I--I _left him_." Oni trailed off, his voice failing him. His shoulders started shaking, then he sobbed. She said nothing and did nothing but hold his shoulder tightly while he wept.

"He kept calling out to me. I told him he was going to be okay. And he's not."

Something hard hit the refresher door. Morj was yelling from outside, cursing in languages Signe couldn't distinguish. She heard Oni's name several times, and Oni flinched.

"_Hut'uun_!" was the only curse Signe recognized. _Coward_. The worst insult. Oni fell into a dreadful silence and covered his face. She heard Gev yell something, then there was another crash as something hit the refresher door again. Oni sat up and he and Signe both stood. When they opened the door, they were standing behind Morj. Gev was holding him by the front of his bodysuit, and Morj was bleeding from the lip.

"Stop it! Both of you!" Signe shouted, the command dripping venom. Gev let go of Morj, and Morj moved away and climbed onto his bunk without a word. His pack was lying on the floor, its contents spilled out from the collision with the door. Gev folded his arms and seemed to want to say something, while Oni lingered behind Signe. She could sense his tension. He wanted to leap at Morj.

Amiel came in, holding Signe's com. All eyes moved to her, and she seemed to wilt in place as if detecting the mood of the room--which she did. "Master, your com was ringing. I picked it up. I'm sorry--it's Sergeant Meshkad."


	4. Burdens

_A/N: Oh, back story! Get excited--the next part is the last part of this story arc._

Burdens

Signe Amrun took the com from her Padawan. "General Amrun here."

"General, this is Sergeant Meshkad." Only it wasn't a woman's voice--it wasn't Amyr, Sigma's training sergeant. "I heard about Jatne."

Signe turned her back to the clones and Padawan and held her other hand close to her ear. Words left her. "Yes. We--"

"Don't worry. Someone's on it. I mean--worry, I guess, because this is _shab'la_ impossible, but my boy can do anything," Sergeant Meshkad said. "I'll call you the moment I hear anything."

Signe let out a sigh. "Thank you, Sergeant."

"Thank my wife," Sergeant Meshkad replied. He snorted and ended the transmission.

Signe turned back to what was left of Sigma squad and was practically floored by the tension between them. "That was Sergeant Meshkad. He said that there's someone looking for Jatne."

"_Ba'buir_'s husband," Gev said with a grin. Signe folded her arms and wondered why Gev insisted on calling Amyr Meshkad "grandma." "I only met the guy once. He's got a reputation for being a royal _shabuir_. Even more royal than you, Oni." Gev forced a grin.

Oni bristled. Signe shot a warning glare. The man was at his breaking point. Chances were that his outburst would make Morj's look like a child's tantrum.

"Get sorted," Signe told them. Amiel inched into the room and stood near her Master and Gev.

Gev looked at Morj. "Yeah, get sorted," he said. Gev pointed to Morj's pack, which had burst open when the clone hurled it at the bathroom door, its contents still strewn about the room. Silence followed Gev's patronizing request. Morj puffed himself up and the glare in his eye was enough to make Gev brace himself. Jatne was gone and Gev was being a _shabuir_.

Morj lunged at Gev, fist raised. Amiel was the first to move, and at the same moment Morj went after Gev, she put herself in between them. Morj's fist collided with the side of the Padawan's face.

Amiel stumbled and steadied herself, and Morj's arms went limp at his sides. Amiel raised a hand and placed it on the side of her face, tears brimming in her eyes. Signe went to her Padawan and Gev scooted around them, about to return the favor to Morj before Oni gave him a hard shove in the chest.

"Commander--" Morj started.

"It's okay, Morj," Amiel said unsteadily. "It just--hurt."

Gev snarled and pointed his fist at Morj. "You _di'kut'la_--"

"Gev!" Signe shouted. "Get out!"

Gev hesitated. It was his room--but he turned and stalked out. Oni stood with one hand gripping Morj's shoulder, the other still reaching for Gev as he left. Signe nodded him out of the room as well, leaving only herself, her Padawan, and Morj.

"Sit down," Signe told Morj. She looked to Amiel and laid her hand on her face. A tear had leaked out onto her cheek, and Signe sensed she was more scared than in pain. Amiel relaxed as Signe applied a Force heal to the welt. When she was done, she wiped away the tear with her thumb and smiled to try and coax a response out of her Padawan. Amiel balled her hands into fists and looked at Morj.

Signe turned to the clone as well. "Morj," she said.

"General, I didn't mean to--"

"I know you didn't. But you meant to hurt someone, and that someone was your own brother."

Morj let his head drop.

"You _have_ to control yourself. You've let the past dictate you for too long."

"What happened to you?" Amiel asked. She felt her Master's eyes fall on her--she knew better than to step in on disciplinary affairs because she was only a Padawan. Signe, however, thought Amiel should hear the truth from Morj.

Morj lifted his hands and ran them through his hair. "I killed Mal. Our old squad leader. It was my fault."

"You didn't kill Mal," Signe said, sounding as if she had had this conversation before. "It was an accident."

"I set the charges wrong," said Morj. "There was a cave-in. We left him for dead."

Signe settled on the bed beside Morj and put her arm around his shoulder. "Stop it."

"Jatne's gone. He was the only one who didn't hold it against me that I killed Mal."

Signe squeezed his shoulder so hard that he went rigid. "I said stop it, Morj. That isn't true."

"He was nice to me. Always." Morj's head was still angled at the floor. "I can't believe Oni took her and not--" Morj broke off.

Amiel covered her mouth. Signe felt a gaping wound in the Force around the Padawan as Amiel turned around and walked briskly out of the room. The door closed behind her and a draft from the corridor made Amiel freeze. Looking to her right, she found Oni and Gev sitting with their backs against the wall. She sat with them, her eyes staring across the corridor in defocus.

"General kicked you out too?" Gev asked.

"No."

"Morj was mean?"

"Morj was mean."

Oni rubbed his eyes. Gev reached out and patted Amiel on the shoulder. "I'm sorry that happened, Commander. If there's anything worse than getting thrown out of your own room, it's getting punched by Morj."

"It wasn't your fault, Gev. Morj has a lot on his mind."

"If I had a credit chip for every time Morj punched me--" Gev broke off, pensive. "Well, I'd give them to you for taking one for me, Commander."

Amiel chuckled softly and looked down at her lap. The clones stared at her with frowns, one slightly different from the other. They waited for her to speak. "Oni, why did you take me and not Jatne?"

Oni straightened. The lines around his mouth seemed more defined than Gev's. "I don't know," he said. "Triage. I knew he could handle whatever the Seps threw at him."

"But he was your brother."

"You're a Jedi."

Amiel felt as if she had been slammed in the chest with a shovel. "What? I'm not even a soldier."

"Nevertheless, you'll save a lot of clones."

"But Jatne was special. He--"

"I don't want to think about him." Oni pinched the bridge of his nose.

The door to the squad's room opened and Signe stepped out. She beckoned Morj. The rest of the squad and Amiel got to their feet and Oni folded his arms when he looked at Morj.

"I'm sorry." Morj's voice was gravelly. "I know I've never been pleasant since--" Oni approached Morj and embraced him.

"Shut up, Morj. You always were the whiny one. We learned how to deal." Gev wrapped his arms around the two of them and squeezed harder than was necessary. He let go only after Morj jabbed him in the stomach with his elbow.

Once his brothers stepped back, Morj approached Amiel and held out his hand, his eyes hardened. "I didn't mean it."

Amiel took Morj's hand in both of hers. His skin was soft. Amiel still felt a visceral ache, a wound left because she meant so much less to someone. And yet she couldn't blame Morj for feeling bitter. "I know," she said.


	5. Memories

_A/N: It's the exciting conclusion! I wanted to get the next part finished before I posted this, but I got impatient. :) Sigma isn't done yet so stay tuned! I hope you liked this first part. And I promise it won't be so drama-intense in the following chapters. Excitement will abound!_

Memories

The _Nonmaleficence_ released the transports bound for Coruscant and Sigma was on one of them. Signe Amrun and her Padawan Amiel Kurr remained on the star cruiser with the rest of the 23rd Legion. It had been three days since Governor Fach's rescue and Jatne's disappearance, and just as the Jedi never discussed Master Vannevar's death, they also avoided the subject of Jatne. Neither of them concealed the occasional moments of anguish. Master and Padawan had a mutual understanding about losing Jatne.

Amiel sat on the floor on her knees across from her Master. The light above them flickered. "I'm really bad at this," she said.

"Sabacc? You have to be good at sabacc, or the clones will take advantage of you!"

"But, Master, shouldn't we be training?"

Signe smiled. Amiel realized slowly what she had actually suggested. "Never mind, let's just play sabacc," the Padawan said.

"I've always thought that clones had flash-training on this game," Signe said. "I used to beat everyone when we had the chance to play at the Temple."

"They let you play sabacc?" Amiel asked.

Signe tilted her head from side to side. "No."

Amiel started to laugh. "Master!"

"We were _bored_."

"Does Sigma beat you at sabacc?"

"Morj is the only one who has stood up to me so far," Signe said. She didn't seem proud that she beat Oni, Gev, and Jatne, but bitter that Morj had won.

"I didn't know about Morj," Amiel said after a few minutes. "You've known Sigma for a long time, haven't you?"

Signe nodded. "They were first deployed with my old Master, Ferrel Dagen. I was still serving with him as a Knight. Morj was stricken about what happened on Geonosis."

"Couldn't you have wiped his memory?"

Signe looked up from the cards and pursed her lips. "We can't mind wipe everyone who has had a bad experience."

"I guess not."

Signe dealt Amiel her hand. "Memory wiping a very complicated process. I've only had informal training from Master Guy Ramseur."

"Master Ramseur knows how?" Amiel asked. She knew Master Ramseur's Padawan, Lyda, and Master Ramseur never struck her as the type of Jedi who was powerful enough to mind wipe.

"Yes." Signe cracked a smile, detecting her Padawan's doubt in Guy.

"Can you teach me?"

Signe looked from the cards to her Padawan. "I suppose a little training wouldn't hurt, huh?" Amiel beamed and nodded. It was the first time she really seemed excited to learn something that didn't have to do with a DC-17 blaster rifle. Signe picked up the sabacc cards and set them aside, then she sat on her knees closer to her Padawan. "Close your eyes," she instructed. "Our Force awareness is a tool you are familiar with--sensing others' emotions and intentions comes naturally to us."

Amiel let out a long breath through her nose. Lectures were the reason why she didn't enjoy learning "Jedi" things--with DC-17s, the main rule was simple: never aim the gun at yourself.

Signe sensed Amiel's boredom and promptly dismissed it. "Memories work similarly, but take practice to recognize as separate from one's current emotion. Here." Signe gently took Amiel's wrist and placed the Padawan's hand on her forehead. "Try and sense my memories."

Amiel shut her eyes and focused on her Master. She felt accosted by the vast volume of memories and the feelings attached to them.

"Focus," Signe whispered.

Amiel detected something soft. Bliss. It was warm and almost blinding, like a tiny star. She honed in on it.

"Good. Find another."

Amiel refrained from trying to decipher the memory and groped for another. She found one that was scalding, almost prickly. Unruly.

"You're getting the hang of it," Signe said. "Hold on to that one. Visualize it as a familiar item. Solidify it. Memories are stored in many places in the brain, even the spinal cord, so you must assure that you have a hold of every trace of it. If any is left behind, it can lead to confusion later."

Amiel imagined that the memory was a prickly bush in a pot that she held in her hands.

"Then, you erase it. Crush it. But don't do it to mine."

Amiel withdrew her hand.

"Impressive, Amiel," Signe said with a broad smile. Amiel seemed to glow with the praise. "Neurology must be your strong suit."

"Thank you, Master."

"But remember: memory wiping is a permanent technique. You cannot reform the memories that are erased. Never do a wipe without my permission."

"Yes, Master. Besides, I need more practice."

Grinning, Signe clapped her hands together. "Should we spend some time in meditation?"

Amiel shook her head and stuck out her lower lip. "I want to play sabacc."

---

Sigma squad gathered on the landing pad to meet their new squad mate. They were dressed in their fatigues and huddled under the spotlight as a cool evening breeze rolled over them. The lights of Coruscant glimmered above them out of reach.

"So we're getting a trooper," Gev said, breaking the silence.

"Commander Law said his name is Sprocket," said Oni. He rubbed his temples.

Morj stared down at his feet and took long, slow breaths.

A transport ship swooped in and landed. The squad tensed in anticipation, and the ship's doors opened. A Mandalorian in red armor emerged. The Mandalorian was tall and approached the three clones quickly, arms outstretched. "Sigma!" he said. The commandos tilted their heads in bewilderment. The Mandalorian removed his helmet, revealing the face of a dark-haired boy in his late teens. "It's Jatne!"

Gev beamed. "Jatne!" He felt a strange tug in his stomach--this wasn't _his_ Jatne. This Mandalorian belonged to Sergeant Meshkad--her son. Nevertheless, Gev grabbed Jatne's forearm and shook it the Mandalorian way, chests bumping. Gev coughed because his ribcage hadn't been prepared for a collision with Mandalorian _beskar'gam_.

Even Morj was smiling. "Keeping out of trouble, _Jat'ika_?" he asked.

"Not exactly," Jatne said. He scratched the back of his head, then turned back to the ship. He waved with his free arm. A clone in civilian clothes stepped onto the cement. He was unshaven and had dark circles under his eyes and his face was wan. His left ear was bandaged and he had a limp.

"Jatne!" Oni shouted. He pushed passed the Jatne in red armor and embraced his brother, refusing to let go. Gev and Morj followed and stood on either side of them, both reaching out to touch Jatne and ensure that he wasn't a hologram.

"Oni," Jatne murmured. He didn't return the embrace right away.

"_Ne ceta, ner vod_," Oni said. He repeated it again and again. Gev thought Oni was going to lose it.

"_Udesii_," was all Jatne replied.

---

Amiel ran up the barracks, outrunning her Master, who was trailing only a couple of paces behind. The Padawan skidded to a stop in front of the door to Sigma's room, Signe nearly barreling her over to try and stop herself. Amiel and Signe knocked in unison.

Oni answered. His face was grim, and Amiel and Signe deflated. "Oni?" Signe asked. "Isn't Jatne back?"

Oni stepped back to let the Jedi in. Morj and Gev were both sitting on the lower bunks and they lazily saluted the Jedi in unison. Oni whispered to them, "Jatne is in the 'fresher."

"Is he all right?" Amiel asked in a low voice.

Oni shrugged. "Why don't you try talking to him, Commander?"

Amiel looked at Signe. Her Master blinked, perhaps surprised that her Padawan actually looked to her for advice. "Yes. See if you can help him, Amiel."

Amiel drew a deep breath. She marched up to the door to the 'fresher and knocked firmly. "Jatne? This is Commander Kurr. May I come in?"

The door opened. Jatne didn't look away from the mirror as he lowered his arm from the control panel. Amiel stepped into the refresher and Jatne closed the door again.

"Are you all right?" Amiel asked. She crossed her arms around her stomach.

"Jatne. Private. R-C-one-seven-eight-eight."

"Jatne?" Amiel's eyes were wide with unconcealed fright. His Force imprint was a vacuum.

"Thirty-six hours of interrogation. And that's all I said."

Jatne's mind was blank. This was damage dealt with more than physical violence alone.

Jatne looked over at her. The bandage on his ear had been removed, and Amiel could see that the cartilage at the top had been burned away. "They had a Jedi," he said. "Or--I don't know what he was. When I was done screaming after the blaster wound and I still hadn't talked, he--" Jatne hesitated. The space between his eyes wrinkled. "Broke me."

Amiel couldn't stand it. She threw her arms around Jatne and buried her face into the space between his arm and his chest. "Jatne, I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am."

Jatne didn't move.

"It all happened so fast, and I thought Oni was going back for you, and--" Amiel didn't know what she was saying. She certainly didn't want to have switched places with Jatne.

"I don't want to hear it." Jatne looked away from her. She could sense his muscles tensing up.

"I love you, Jatne," Amiel whispered. She felt like she was choking.

"No. You don't." Jatne shrugged her off of him and turned his back to her. "You don't understand love."

Amiel sniffed and it made her entire body flinch.

"I don't blame you for it. You weren't taught to think or feel for yourself. Just like me." Jatne's voice lacked any inflection and it echoed in the refresher. "Even if you loved me more than a clone in his prime who gave half a _shab_ about you, I wouldn't know how to love you back. Not anymore," Jatne finished, his voice cracking.

Amiel reached up and grabbed Jatne by the shoulder, yanking him around so he was facing her. Tears were brimming in her eyes, and Jatne could tell by her vice grip the Padawan was livid. She reached up with her other hand and touched his forehead. He felt a chill that ran from the back of his head down the length of his spine, and her palm felt hot on his skin. He blacked out for a moment and when he opened his eyes (which he didn't recall closing), he saw Amiel grazing the back of her hand against his cheek. Thirty-six hours disappeared.

Jatne blinked and Amiel removed her hands from him. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Jatne said, one of his eyebrows arching. "I'm sort of hungry."

The smile on Amiel's face could have been a second lighting unit in the 'fresher. Jatne returned her smile with a hesitant chuckle.

There was a knock on the door. Jatne opened it and Amiel turned around to find herself face-to-face with her Master. "Amiel," Signe said in a low voice. "What did you do?"

Amiel took on an innocent, wide-eyed stare. The void where Jatne's mind had been was filled. "I helped him."

Signe's eyes darted from her Padawan to Jatne. She put together fairly quickly what Amiel had done. "Jatne, would you please leave?"

Jatne frowned. "General, if you don't mind, could I ask what's going on? Where did I get these civvy clothes?"

"You had a bad bump on your head," Amiel said. "I healed it--"

Signe's hand shot out and grabbed Amiel by the wrist to silence her. "Jatne. Please."

"Yes, ma'am," Jatne said. He skirted around the Jedi and Signe shut the door behind him.

"Amiel, do you realize the damage you've caused?" Signe asked in a harsh whisper.

Amiel wrenched out of her Master's grip. "You didn't hear him, Master! He was--he was a totally different person!"

"Watch your tone, Padawan."

Amiel inhaled and exhaled before continuing, only managing to lower her voice enough that Sigma couldn't hear her. "A Force-user interrogated him. He was broken, Master, didn't you feel him?"

Signe's glare softened. "Yes."

"I thought that there was no other way to help Jatne. I wanted him to--to be like he was."

"People change, Amiel," her Master said. "Just because we're Jedi doesn't mean we have the right to correct it."

"He told me he didn't know how to love anymore. Master, you have to understand!"

Signe looked away and folded her arms.

"Jatne is the most loving clone I know. To hear him say that--"

"You love him, Amiel."

Amiel was shocked--not that her Master had detected her attraction to the clone, but that she had finally come out and said it. She went on the defense. "You love Oni--"

Signe raised her hand and stopped Amiel. "I know. I won't turn you in."

Amiel's shoulders slumped and she wrapped her arms around herself. "I just wanted him to love me back so badly."

"That is never a reason to irreversibly wipe a person's memory."

"He was never going to be the same."

"And that is why I will not have you sent to Jedi AgriCorps for your recklessness."

Amiel's head shot up and she gasped.

"Honestly," Signe said, raising her eyes to the ceiling, "I would have done the same. But you _cannot_ do something this dangerous on your own. You're only a Padawan."

"Yes, Master."

"You are not to speak with Jatne until I decide how to explain to him where he was after the last mission."

"Yes, Master."

"And, Amiel?"

Amiel lifted her head.

"You did all right."

---

Jatne crossed the star cruiser _Nonmaleficence_ en route to Sigma's room. His father was waiting for him in the docking bay and would probably become cross if he was late, but Jatne wanted to visit Sigma once more while they were still together.

Jatne turned a corner in the hallway and was hit in the shin by a blunt object. His armor took the brunt of the impact, but it still made him jump and put his hand on the holster of his blaster. "What the--"

"Sorry, _Jat'ika_!" Jatne called from several paces up the hallway. He was holding a pipe in his hand that the Mandalorian supposed he must have used to launch the round, rubbery puck that hit him. Morj, Oni, and Gev were standing behind him with mischievous grins on their faces.

Jatne forgot about his father waiting in the docking bay. "Can I play, _ner vode_?" he asked with a broad smile.


	6. Flashbacks

_A/N: I want to apologize in advance for all of the 'A' names I have. I have no idea why, but I came up with these characters for various stories and have thrown them together here, and for some reason--80,000 'A' names! Here's a little cheat sheet in case you get mixed up:_

_Amiel Kurr - Jedi Padawan, 14 years old, in love with clone Jatne_

_Signe Amrun - Jedi Master, 25 years old, in love with Oni_

_Amyr Meshkad - Sigma Squad's Mandalorian training sergeant, 39 years old (don't tell her I told you)_

_Avan Kaden - Jedi Knight and espionage specialist, 24 years old_

_Oh, and:_

_Jatne Meshkad - Red-clad Mandalorian, 19 years old, Amyr Meshkad's son_

_Clone Jatne - Has a burnt ear and big, puppy-dog eyes!_

_I kid you not, in my plots for the Jatnes, I have gotten them mixed up not noticed until later when I pulled up the plot point and went "Wait, which Jatne is doing this?" Apparently I hate myself._

_Moving on! So I originally was going to jump right into the next part, but I couldn't figure out a decent way to incorporate some much-needed background information. So I think the title of this chapter more or less explains what it'll be about (the CIRCUS!). I'll try and mark the times of when these things happened, and everything will be in relation to when Vannevar dies at the skirmish of Dinlo (so in relation to the first chapter of this story, which is one year after the start of the Clone Wars)._

_Read and review! I edited this comment into the first chapter, but just as a note, this whole series has been written in a style completely new to me. I know that's not a big deal to you, but if you have any commentary at all about the characters, my writing, whatever--please tell me! Especially if you hate it._

_Thanks to inu'ika217, Darth Comrade, and Daennika for being faithful! (Darth Comrade has some awesome Ahsoka, Anakin, and Obi-wan Clone Wars fics, and Daennika has a wonderful post-Order 66 Bardan Jusik fic if you're interested. Also check out the Clone Wars community that Darth Comrade runs. /shoutout) I talk a lot._

Flashbacks

**Clone Training Facility, Kamino, 11 years ago**

_He's dead. He's gone. KIA. I_ know _that. So why is he standing over there?_

Amyr Meshkad was twenty-eight years old, widowed, and forever without her only son. She was homeless and now a training sergeant for over one hundred clone children at a facility that was hospitable enough to make her think of a hospital. Amyr knew that she couldn't get attached to those boys if she wanted to teach them how to survive, but she still had named one Jatne. _Best_. He still would never be the son she lost.

Out of the one hundred training sergeants, there must have been one that Amyr had overlooked in the six months she had spent on Kamino. The _Cuy'val Dar_--Those Who No Longer Exist--had gathered in a conference hall to receive instruction from Jango Fett, and now they were exiting to go back to their rooms. The Mandalorian that caught her eye was abnormally tall and had black hair, a goatee, and a stubbly face. His hair was short, not like the ponytail _he_ had when he left. But he still looked like--

"_Riduur_!" It was stupid of her. She didn't have a husband anymore. She didn't know who that man was.

The black-haired man stopped and staggered forward as a couple of men in the crowd ran into him. He turned around and looked--yes, he had the same face. "_Rem'ika_!" Amyr called out.

His eyes met hers. At first, his gaze seemed to melt, then his eyes widened with terror. Amyr shouldered between two sergeants that were in her way and she stood in front of her _riduur_. He braced himself and Amyr put her hands on his shoulders, seemed placid, but suddenly became an explosion of movement as she head-butted Rem in the mouth--what Mandalorians called a "Keldabe kiss."

Arms locked under Amyr's from behind her, holding her back. She struggled. "_Udesii_!" a rough voice urged.

"Amyr?" Rem asked. His lower lip was bleeding.

"Where is our son?" Amyr demanded. "You took our son to train him and I never saw him again!"

"I left Jatne with your sister."

Amyr's lips tightened and her forehead had a cut from the blow to Rem's mouth. The man who was holding her back hadn't let go of her.

Rem stepped closer to her, guilt apparent in the way his brow lifted and his eyes adhered to hers. "Jatne is doing well. He's going to make us proud. He's our _verd'ika_."

Amyr smiled. The corners of her eyes felt moist. _My little warrior--still alive_.

"Are you gonna hit him again, or can I let go?" the man asked.

"Let go," Amyr said. She was released and she flung herself at Rem, embracing him and burying her face into his chest.

"_Ne ceta_," Rem murmured, resting his hand on the back of her head.

Amyr peeled her face away from Rem and looked back at the man who had held onto her. He was short, graying, and standing with his hands on his hips. He regarded the couple with an arched brow.

"Thanks, Skirata," Rem said with a snort. "She would've broken my skull if it wasn't for you."

The man called Skirata nodded and looked around. An audience had gathered around the couple after Amyr had attacked Rem. "Lover's quarrels, eh?" Skirata said with a dismissive shrug.

The crowd seemed to collectively shrug in response and soon dissipated. Two Kaminoans floated onto the scene and were interested in finding out what the commotion was, but they were ignored by the aloof sergeants. Rem and Amyr slipped away back to Rem's room. Rem rested his hand on the small of Amyr's back, and she edged closer to him.

"Well, here's my humble abode," Rem announced. He opened the door and let her enter first. Amyr lowered herself onto the bed looked at her lap while Rem went to a cabinet unit. Suddenly, his hand was in her face, offering her a handkerchief.

He was smiling when she looked up at him, and he tapped his forehead. "You're bleeding."

"_You're_ bleeding." Amyr took the cloth from him and stood up, then she dabbed at his lower lip.

When she was done, Rem plucked the cloth out of her hand and returned the favor. "I break my back to train our son, and this is the thanks I get?"

Amyr smiled and shook her head as she placed her hands on his chest. She ran her hands up to his shoulders until her arms wrapped around his neck, and she pulled herself against him. "Not quite."

**Abandoned Republic Bulwarks, Dinlo, Present**

"Sir, what is it?"

Commander Avan Kaden was standing near a patch of burnt, eroded dirt. A hand was covering his nose and mouth, and Captain Harsh could detect the slightest hint of moisture at the corners of his eyes.

"He's an old friend," the Jedi said, voice unsteady.

"The one who died?"

"Three months ago. Yes, him."

Captain Harsh hooked his thumbs onto his belt and turned his head slightly to get a view of the area. The density of the foliage was erratic, many of the century-old trees ripped and thrown about by artillery. A scan from his visor proved there were no hostiles hiding in the surrounding forest. Harsh turned on his heels and began walking away to leave his commander in peace.

Avan Kaden knelt down on the ground beside the remains of Mal Vannevar. He kept his hand over his face as he stared. What was he doing? There was no mourning in war. It was get yourself together and move on to the next mission. Avan let his head sink forward until it rested on his kneecap. He groped in the Force for some sign of his old friend. Just ice.

"Sir?"

A shadow fell over Avan as Harsh walked up beside him. Avan rose and was offered the hilt of a lightsaber. "I found this buried under debris nearby," Captain Harsh said.

Avan took the lightsaber and smiled at Harsh. "Thanks." He clapped the ARC Trooper on the back. "It's definitely Vannevar's." His smile disappeared and he tossed the lightsaber hilt from one hand to the other.

Harsh leaned toward Avan.

"Sorry," Avan said, waving his free hand dismissively. He pocketed his old friend's lightsaber. "Weird feeling. We'd better get moving."

"You know I don't like your 'weird feelings,' Commander."

"Nothing to worry about."

Avan considered the raw emotion that had just hit him when he came into contact with the lightsaber, which he had to assume was the last thing his friend had touched. Vannevar... he had been _hopeless_.

"Commander, can I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"So you Jedi are supposed to be devoid of attachments. What was with you and General Vannevar? I'm fairly certain Jedi aren't allowed to cry."

Avan rolled his eyes and began walking at a brisk pace. Maybe the clone had never seen someone cry before, or had a reason to cry himself. Harsh jogged to catch up. "Harsh, you know what it's like to hate everyone."

"Sure."

"That's almost like being completely detached. _Jedi_. At the very least, you don't actively create relationships with others."

"If you say so, Commander."

"I do. But there are a few people you don't hate, right?"

Harsh considered. "Well, there's you. And that waitress on Ord Mantell."

"Exactly. Sometimes people slip through the filter. In my case, Vannevar was one of them."

Harsh climbed over a fallen log that had a girth over twice his height. He paused, turned, and stood on it. "Anybody else, Commander?"

Avan Force-jumped and landed beside Captain Harsh. He tilted his head from side to side in consideration, then he said with a sly grin: "Nah."

"_Shabuir_."

**Troop Dormitories, Star Cruiser **_**Nonmaleficence**_**, Present**

"Why do you have that again, _ner vod_?" Gev asked skeptically. Morj was standing at the door of their room holding a plant with almost the entirety of its root system hanging in a mess about a foot off of the floor. The plant had a wide stem that almost constituted as a trunk, and large leaves that were purplish red.

Morj glared at him. "I wanted it. That's why." Oni rolled his eyes, and Jatne grinned.

"Are you a botanist now?" Jatne asked.

"Yeah. Sure. A botanist. I'm going to see if I can find a pot for it or something." Morj left, still in his armor with his helmet clipped to his belt, and went for the mess hall. As he walked, he recalled the guffaws of other clones on the transport ship, asking him what the plant was for and if he would wear a sun hat when watering it. Morj insisted that it was for "medicinal purposes" and they laughed more. The squad seemed embarrassed by him, but he didn't care. He made a promise to return with a gift, and he did.

Morj managed to negotiate a pot from one of the droids in the kitchen, then he trooped back to the dormitories. When he reached her room, Morj knocked on the door by tapping on it with the tip of his mud-covered boot.

A young woman around Amiel's age answered the door. Her blonde bangs were curled around the sides of her face and her Padawan braid was resting over her left shoulder. She was tall and lean, and seeing her after a long campaign made Morj's ears turn red.

"Morj, you're back!" she cried with a bright smile. She stepped back to let him into the room, doting over the plant in the pot. "I love it! What kind of plant is it?"

Morj set the pot down and shrugged. "I've never seen one like it. So don't eat any of the seeds or fruit, okay?"

"Okay. Wow, I've never gotten anything before..." The Padawan smiled and examined one of the broad leaves. "Master Ramseur always tells me that knowledge, experience, and peace of mind are the greatest gifts." She had to suppress a giggle in order to finish her sentence. "But this is much better. Thank you, Morj."

Morj received her into his arms and held her tightly. He wished the armor didn't get in the way. "I'm glad you like it, Lyda."

---

When Morj got back to the room, Jatne and Oni were absent. Gev was lying on his bunk with his datapad on his stomach. Morj took off his armor pieces and climbed onto his own bunk, then he rolled onto his side and faced the wall. He told himself that he wasn't going to spend a moment thinking about Lyda when she wasn't near him. He didn't include dreams.

"Where were you earlier?" Gev asked from the bunk below. It had been a couple of hours since Morj had left with his ridiculous prize.

"Finding a pot for the plant."

"Where's the plant?"

"Couldn't find a pot. So I ditched it."

Morj heard Gev shift in his bed. "You mean to tell me that you spent three minutes pulling that plant out of the ground--under fire, mind you--just to ditch it when you couldn't find a pot? Morj, what made you think you _could_ find a pot?"

"It's just a plant, Gev."

"No, it's not just a plant." Gev's voice was darkening. It was probing. "You haven't cared about something so much since you learned how to give a field tracheotomy. So what is it?"

Morj felt sick to his stomach. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"It's just a plant, Morj," Gev taunted.

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" Morj shouted.

"This is the kind of _osik_ that sets us off!" Gev shouted back. He stood and turned around, glaring up at his brother.

Morj sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, paying little mind to whether or not they were within reach of striking Gev. "Sometimes I don't want to talk about every little thing that happens," Morj said through his teeth.

"Why not?" Gev said, his voice under more control. "You're a festering ball of discontent, Morj. General Amrun and Amiel are worried about you."

"'Festering' is a big word for you," Morj mumbled.

With perfect precision, Gev's hand shot out and pinched Morj's pressure points right above his knees, causing Morj to flinch and suck in air through his teeth. "Fine!" shouted Morj. Gev let go and waited.

"I--slept with someone." It sounded crude. It sounded nothing like it felt.

There was no perceptible change in Gev's expression. "You what?"

"I _slept_ with someone," Morj repeated.

Gev's jaw dropped. "_You_?"

"Don't act so surprised!"

"I have to be surprised! We're all gorgeous, so someone found your personality appealing! Or was this just a one-time thing?"

Morj tried to kick Gev, but he dodged his foot. Morj pushed himself off of the bunk and landed on the floor. It wasn't a one-time thing. She wanted to see him again, as did he. "No."

"Who is it?"

Morj shook his head.

"C'mon, I told you about the refugee!"

Morj looked away. If he was going to let the felinx out of the bag, it would have to be to Gev--the brother who took advantage of a scared, unloved, and desperate refugee. "Commander Kala."

Gev guffawed. "She's--"

"Fifteen. I _know_!" Gev punched Morj in the shoulder. Morj glared. "It's not like you knew how old that girl was!"

Gev shrugged.

"Besides, Mandalorians are having kids by Lyda's age!"

Gev shrugged again. His brow creased, calculating Morj. "Do you love her?"

"She loves me."

"That's not what I--"

"_And I love her_."

Gev folded his arms. "She must see something in you that we'll never see."

"She's a Jedi."

"You're a charity case."

Morj punched Gev hard in the stomach, then climbed back up onto his bunk. He faced the wall, squeezing his eyes shut and picturing Lyda. He wasn't a charity case. They were in _love_.


	7. Badlands

_A/N: There's a plot this time. I promise._

_Timeline issues: I hate fictional wars! It's so hard to get the timeline down and fit everybody in canonically! Just as a reminder: it has been 1 year and 3 months since the start of the Clone Wars; Vannevar has been dead for three months._

_Why I hate Wookieepedia: It has the right information, and it messes me up. Technicalities include that Republic Commandos are under the command of General Arligan Zey and Commander Bardan Jusik (loveee!), which I should have known. So, just to set this straight, Signe and Amiel don't actually command Sigma squad. They just happen to be around each other._

_Next: For every Master/Padawan combo in the Grand Army of the Republic, there are three clone commanders: one paired with the Master, and two with the Padawan. Canonically, I don't think that's ever been shown. But I'm doing it anyway!_

_General Signe Amrun and Commander Law are in charge of the 23__rd__ Legion. Commander Amiel Kurr, Commander Naro, and Commander Slon are in charge of one Regiment under the 23__rd__ Legion. I might be the only one anal enough to actually care, but there you go!_

_PS - inu'ika, I added some info about my NaNo account to my profile if you didn't see. :)_

_PSS - It's my birthday next Thursday! I also have a huge test and shenanigans that weekend. I'd like to think I can keep up with my weekly updates, but I might be a little late. I'm also tempted to write a silly chapter about Jatne instead of continuing the plot, but I have some pretty narly cliffhangers and that might be mean.  
_

Badlands

**Ship Graveyard, Shiritoku Spur Airspace**

"I hate to say it, but I miss Gev."

"Why don't _you_ try it?" Morj snapped. His fingers were flying over the keyboard of a console, which glowed blue against his dirty helmet.

"I will if you spend another fifteen minutes on it!" Oni shot back.

"Children," a voice said warningly over the com. It was Sprocket, their pilot, who was most likely waiting in the ship with a foot propped up on the controls and munching on a nutty bar. It was a strange turn of events how the trooper who was supposed to be their new squad mate ended up piloting their transport. "So, let me get this straight, Sigma," Sprocket continued, "your quest for survivors has turned into a data recovery mission here while your comrades are... _where_, again?"

"Dorumaa," Oni grumbled.

"Dorumaa," Sprocket repeated. "Yes. On a cruise. How did they manage that?"

"A Republic governor took a liking to them and requested that they accompany him as guards on vacation," Oni explained. He knelt down beside one of the dead soldiers and flipped him onto his back. He was a mongrel--not a clone. "The story is that the governor's wife was abducted and murdered by CIS terrorists early on in the war, so he's got authorization for extra protection."

"My brother was killed, so I do I get a couple of commandos to follow me around?" Sprocket asked.

"We're already following your _shebs_ around," Oni replied dryly. "But we're liable to ditch you somewhere if your piloting skills don't improve."

"Hey! I'm _new_!"

"Done," Morj said, removing the datachip and putting it in his belt pouch. "I wiped the ship's databases and snagged the navicomputer so no grabby Seps can take it." Morj went over and stood beside Oni, who was looking down at the corpse. Morj's head tilted and he pointed at the burn wound on the man's abdomen. "That's not a blaster wound."

"Blaster wound?" Sprocket asked. "Who got shot?"

"Nobody," Oni snapped. "What do you mean, Morj?"

"That wound spans his entire torso as if shot on an angle, but for a blaster bolt to graze that deeply from any of the droid models I know of is impossible."

"What's your point?"

"My point is, I think a lightsaber did that."

The two commandos stared at each other. Sprocket said, "So no one got shot and there's a homicidal Jedi somewhere?"

"I thought the crew was killed by the ship's damages exposing them to space," Oni said.

"They could have been assaulted by droids. And apparently a Jedi." Morj looked down at the corpse and took a snapshot with his visual feed for later analysis.

"Why are you two looking at dead guys? Could we get going?" Sprocket asked.

The ship creaked and there was a loud clank that resounded through the empty frigate, causing Morj and Oni to tense and look around for the source of the noise. "Sprocket, what was that?" Oni demanded.

"I don't know!" Sprocket paused, then he said, "I can't get the console to boot up!"

Morj had jogged over to the transparisteel viewing window. He waved Oni over. "It's another ship. I don't recognize the markings," Morj said.

"Another ship docked?" Sprocket repeated. "Oh, _crap_."

Morj and Oni exchanged another glance, wondering what language "crap" derived from.

"Whoever they are, they jammed up my ship. Controls are locked."

"Think they're Seps?" Morj asked.

"I don't care. We need to bail." Oni went over to the console, only to hover his hands above the keypad because the computer was wiped. "Sprocket, get in here. We need to find an escape pod."

**Battle of Null, Outer Rim**

General Signe Amrun's brow was creased as she stared at the holomap that Commander Law was holding out. He turned his eyes toward her and let out an inaudible sigh. The General cared about her troops, and Law gave her credit for that. But she couldn't make a decision to save her life--literally.

"I don't know, Commander," the General said finally. She looked tentatively at him. "What do you think?"

Commander Law sighed once more and opened his mouth to explain his strategy, but not before a silver-clad Mandalorian jumped out of nowhere in front of them.

"This is Commander Law and General Amrun. Say 'hi' to my wife!" he told them.

Signe wilted and waved half-heartedly at the Mandalorian's holocrecorder in his gauntlet. "Hello, Amyr."

"Where is your squad, Sergeant Meshkad?" Commander Law asked.

"Dead, sir."

"What?"

"I'm just kidding! They're climbing a tree over there." He turned off the holorecorder and put his hands on his hips. Several broad trees surrounded the Republic campsite, one of which was teeming with white-armored clones trying to scale it. Nearby, a particularly well-protected spot became the site for the triage unit. "Are we ever going to get moving, General?"

Signe's cheeks turned a dark shade of red. Commander Law had never seen her so uncomfortable before. "In due time, Sergeant," Signe said.

Rem Meshkad's helmet tilted a couple of degrees to the left. "Very well," he said, sobered.

"I'll dish out the orders," Law offered. The semantics of his sentences lately had changed from "I can" to "I _will_," and General Amrun didn't seem to notice.

"Thank you, Law. I'll go check on Commander Slon." General Amrun turned and began walking toward the triage unit, her hands balled into fists at her sides.

Rem Meshkad tagged alongside of her. He was a beast of a man, taller than the clones and just as broad, and he had the tendency to throw his weight around. He draped his heavy arm over Signe's shoulders. "You're a good General," he said.

"What makes you say that?" Signe asked, glancing in his direction.

"You love your army."

Signe shut her eyes for a moment, nodding. He made it sound like it was a bad thing.

"You don't like making decisions. You keep your Padawan close by. _Shab_, I even saw you tuck in Commander Law one night." Rem stopped walking and stepped in front of Signe. He put his hands on her shoulders and stuck his visor right in her face. "A great general once said that a good commander must 'order the death of the thing she loves.'"

Signe, stricken, stared into the faceless helmet. He didn't understand--he _couldn't_ understand--that she knew every clone had the face of her lover.

"Start using that Force-enlightened head of yours and move my boys."

A LAAT/i transport swooped over them and made a landing near the triage unit. A handful of clones began helping their wounded brothers out of the ship. Rem gripped Signe's shoulder hard before he jogged ahead to help. Signe peeled her eyes away from the menagerie of stretchers and bloody wound dressings. She didn't have to see the pain to feel it.

Signe ducked into one of the tents and found a clone lying on his back covered with a blanket. He had his datapad out on his stomach. Beside him, her Padawan was kneeling and checking him over, and behind her stood a clone commander, helmet off and hands on his hips.

"General," the commander said, saluting.

"Commander Naro," Signe replied with a nod. She knelt down beside her Padawan and placed her hand lightly on the clone's hand. "Feeling well, Commander Slon?"

"He's dying, General," Naro said. "It's Commander Kurr's fault."

"Shut up," Amiel said. She looked over at her Master. "Slon suffered a frontal bone fracture."

Signe winced. "Slon, you really should consider wearing a helmet."

Slon would have glared if he could, but the front of his head was bandaged. "I _was_ wearing a helmet."

"His ankle also suffered a minor strain, but he should be fine in a couple of days," Amiel said. She got to her feet and shot a warning glare at Naro before he could make another derogatory comment about her.

"Good to hear. Rest up, Slon." Signe smiled and squeezed his hand. She looked back at Amiel with an approving nod. "You've come along in your healing skills."

Amiel's face lit up. "Thank you!"

Naro prodded Slon in the arm with the toe of his boot. "Lucky _chakaar_ gets to lay around and sleep while I do all of the work with Midget here."

Amiel let out a heavy sigh through her nostrils. Signe was starting to notice that her Padawan was the frequent target of clone teasing, and she had sneaking suspicions it had less to do with Amiel's grating personality, and more to do with her recent growth spurt. It wasn't the kind of spurt made her taller, either--it was the kind that required her to have to borrow larger undershirts and adjust where she folded her arms. It really tipped Signe off when Gev remarked on Amiel becoming more "top-heavy" and, as a result, less annoying. Jatne had taken the liberty of punching him in the ear for that.

In the end, Signe was grateful that she didn't have a purple Twi'lek Padawan who had a loving personality. Master Tsun Ga'ni's Padawan, Sennia, was a clone _magnet_.

"'All of the work,'" Amiel repeated with a scoff. "If I had a cred for every time you were text messaging some girl you met at a--"

Naro stuck the side of his hand in her mouth to keep her from talking. "Not in front of the General!"

Amiel made a "mmph" sound, then bit down on his pinky as hard as she could, causing him to pull away from her. Signe was too stunned to say anything. She hated thinking of the clones as being "programmed," but she had never seen one as... brash as Naro, and she wondered if they had heated his incubation tube for too long.

Naro started shaking out his hand when suddenly Amiel flinched. Signe put a hand to her temple--she had felt it, too. It was a disturbance that felt as if someone had crept up and put the muzzle of a blaster to the back of her head. "Something's coming," Signe said. "Amiel, stay here--"

The sound of incoming vehicles and blaster fire assaulted her ears. Signe tore out of the tent and activated her lightsabers, confronted not by droids, but by flames.

**En Route to Bakura, Shiritoku Spur Airspace**

Morj held on tightly to the restraints. He hadn't been in such a high gravity situation in a long time. In fact, it was making him feel sick. "This is an improvement from your piloting, Sprocket."

"Bite me."

Morj looked over at Oni, who was typing on his datapad. Morj started grinding his teeth. Oni had two people he ever messaged: one was General Jusik, and a transmission had already been made with an evac request. The second was General Amrun.

Morj flipped to a private channel with Oni. "Love letters?"

"Shut up about it."

"You're both so touchy. It's not like we're tumbling to an unhappy landing on a Separatist planet or anything."

"Have you told Lyda?"

Morj tried not to make a sound. He swallowed. "No."

"We might not--"

"We'll make it."

"I can see you two are having a private conversation over there," Sprocket said. "I normally wouldn't care, but you've both been mean to me."

"Hold on, Sprock," Oni said. Sprocket detected the drastic change in tone and leaned back into his seat. Oni was being... gentle.

"Morj, please send her a message. Or I will."

"No. Have you sent something to Jatne or Gev yet?"

Oni was silent. He shook his head slowly.

"You _hut'uun_. Think about our brothers before your lover."

A tiny blip indicated that Oni had turned off the com. He went back to his datapad.

"I don't know if you two are still chatting or not," Sprocket interjected carefully, "but I think we're about to hit atmo."


	8. Roasted

_A/N: Why, yes. The title IS from The Office. :p_

_My buddy Triya finally got her story, Meat Cans, up!_

_If you want to see a little more about Morj's sweetheart, Lyda, or find out who the memory master is (Guy!), check out her story! We're trying to include some cameos of each other's characters as much as possible._

_Speaking of characters, I planted Avan Kaden thinking I could slide him and Harsh in somewhere. It's not happening. Instead, that dynamic duo is going to get their own short story. The Meshkads are also going to phase out from the main plot somewhat, but if you've checked my profile lately, then you know I'm working on a Mandalorian-centered story starring Jatne! Yay!_

_Now stuff that's actually about this chapter: I'm really, really mean to Signe. Ha! That's all I got. Sorry, Sig._

Roasted

_**Exotic Getaways**_** Cruise Liner, Dorumaa, Mid Rim**

The lounge chair had a flawless design that supported every sore spot on Jatne's body. The sun was warm but not hot and draped his exposed skin in an invisible blanket of light rays. He couldn't describe it quite right. Amiel hugged him once when he was wearing fatigues--it felt like that.

Gev's com started to beep. He lowered his visors down the bridge of his nose and groped for it in his pack. He had grown out his hair so that it was a tangled mess around his ears, and he had a ill-tamed beard to further alter his appearance from his brother. Gev pulled out his com when he found it and checked the text message screen. His eyes drooped.

"What is it?" Jatne asked.

Gev shrugged and set the com back in his bag. "Oni says him, Morj, and Sprock had to bail out of a ship in an escape pod and they're headed toward Bakura."

"Oh. That's a Separatist planet, isn't it?"

"Well, it's neutral. But they have Sep tendencies." Gev yawned and stretched his arms, eliciting several pops from his joints.

Jatne fell silent, overwhelmed with a worry that was compounded by his inability to do anything for his brothers. He couldn't bring himself to fully resent the lounge chair or the sun or the freedom, however.

A shadow fell over them, and they looked up to see Governor Grenel Fach wearing a wide hat made of straw, a linen shirt, and shorts. He had his hands on his hips and a grin that flashed his white teeth. "Enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?"

"The sun's a little hot, there are no homicidal droids, and I miss my kit." Gev grinned broadly. "This is the best day of my life, Gov."

Grenel smiled, but Jatne noted a distinct lift in his eyebrows that conveyed more sadness than it did relief. A Twi'lek waitress came up beside him and politely tapped him on the shoulder, and he stepped aside so that she could set two drinks on the table in between the commandos. Jatne shot a glance toward Gev and deduced that his brother's eyes were adhered to the waitress, though he couldn't tell what part of her. She gave them a smile before moving away.

"I took the liberty of buying you both drinks," Grenel said.

"That's way too generous of you, Gov." Gev picked up his drink and tapped it against Jatne's. "_Oya_!"

Jatne took his drink and sipped it. The taste caused his tongue to prickle and send a strange sensation along his jaw line to the bottoms of his ears. His face puckered and he shook his head. "What is this?"

"I'm adding a little _fun_ into your lives. Don't drink those too fast, eh?"

"Gov, we're under-aged," Gev said, taking another long swig.

Grenel chuckled and lowered his visors to peer over them. "You'll need that."

"Why?" Jatne asked, taking another hesitant sip.

"I need you to look after my kids for a bit."

**Bakura, Shiritoku Spur Airspace, Outer Rim**

Morj wobbled as he took his first steps out of the escape pod. He peeled off his helmet and gagged.

Oni wandered several paces away and folded his arms, checking out their surroundings. They landed in a particularly uninhabited area--a flat, deserted plain, and if they had any luck, nobody would find them for a while. But "a while" were the operative words--they were on borrowed time until they got contact from command about some possible evac.

Oni turned back toward the escape pod and saw Sprocket massaging the back of Morj's neck as he finished getting sick. Oni took out his water canister and held it out to his brother. "You okay, _vod_?" Oni asked.

Morj turned his head toward him, contempt in his squinting eyes. He reached out and took the water, rinsed and spat, then took a few tentative swigs. He handed the canister back. "Thanks."

"Any idea where the Sep base is here?" Sprocket asked Oni.

"If I knew, then somebody would have had the brains to blow it up by now. Hopefully it's not close."

Morj put on his helmet and resealed it. He saw a blinking icon on his heads-up display alerting him to a message he had received.

"Let's get moving," Oni said, tapping the toe of his boot on the ground.

Morj checked over his DC-17 blaster rifle as they walked, making sure to look behind them to assure that they weren't being followed. Oni began to lead them toward a wooded area on the other side of the field at a break-neck pace. Sprocket couldn't keep his mouth shut as they strode across the yellow-green grass.

"So how big is the Sep base?"

"I don't know," Oni replied.

"Do you think they're going to deploy a whole droid battalion to dispose of us?"

"Sprock, it's going to be okay."

Morj sighed. Oni was such a liar.

"I'm thinking if we go native, I'll grow the beard."

"Okay, Sprock. You can grow the beard. Morj can have the mohawk."

Morj hadn't been paying attention to just how far they had walked, but the morning sun had moved directly above them. The trees had gotten thicker. They stopped to sit down near a babbling brook, and Sprocket peeled his helmet off as he sat on a log. Oni immediately took out his data pad and began pacing.

"Oni--" Morj started.

"Keep it to yourself."

Morj started grinding his teeth to keep from saying anything more. He distracted himself by bringing up the message that had been waiting on his HUD. It was from Lyda.

MORJ, I THINK THE PLANT DIED. I'M SO SORRY.

She signed it with love. He deleted the message and sat back against the tree, letting the back of his helmet hit the bark. The plant he had brought her needed a humid climate, which couldn't be sustained on the ship. Even with Lyda's Force encouragement, she couldn't be around enough to keep it alive. It didn't surprise him that the plant died.

"Signe hasn't messaged me back," Oni murmured.

"She's busy. She's a General."

"It says the message was read."

"She's _busy_, _di'kut_."

Oni looked over at Morj. "For being in the same situation, you're not very sympathetic."

"It's not the same. I'm not obsessing."

"_Obsessing_? You--"

"Your coms are on audio. Just so you know." Sprocket stared at them.

Morj's throat went tight. Oni's shoulders slumped and he waved his hand at Sprocket in a "forget you" manner. "You would have found out eventually had you joined the squad."

"About what, exactly?"

"Nothing," Morj interjected. He got to his feet. "Let's keep moving."

Oni led them across the woods, supposedly having found a small dwelling nestled in the side of a ridge two klicks north of their current position.

"Where'd you find that out?" Sprocket asked. "The real estate listings?"

"That would have been more reliable. I got a schematic of the area from an Intel planetary database."

"In other words," Morj cut in, "we're probably headed toward the touted Sep base."

Sprocket fell silent until one minute and four seconds later when he asked, "Was that a joke, Morj?"

"Yes," he replied, deadpan.

"He's our comedian," Oni mumbled.

The terrain took a sudden, hilly turn and soon they were climbing a vertical incline so steep that Morj could crawl on all-fours and still be upright.

"Get low," Oni said, holding up a fist to stop them.

"Done," said Sprocket.

Morj lifted his head to see the dwelling in the ridge. The house was circular, like a little processed can of furniture and living space. It also had an abandoned look to it, indicated by the rust stains on the metal surfaces and the various plants encroaching along the sides of it.

"Oh!" Sprock said suddenly. Morj clutched his deece and looked around frantically before Sprock continued. "I just realized--do you two have girlfriends or something?"

"We usually don't talk about them during the pivotal points of our mission," Oni said through his teeth.

"So you do have them."

"Oni, I'll check out the house," Morj said.

"Be careful."

Morj crawled carefully toward the house. It was positioned into the side of the cliff in such a way that there was no "back way" in, making it an easy place to defend. Tricky to infiltrate, though. Morj tried a heat scan when he got close enough, and the readout came back clear of any organic, heat-producing life forms. He did a second scan for any devious signals to deduce if there were any inorganic threats, too. Still clear.

Morj took a deep breath as he crept along the path toward the front door, his back against the cliff face. There were no lights on inside the house. No cameras around the door. Tentatively, he reached out his hand and hit the control panel. The door slid with a creak and opened.

Oni's voice popped onto the com, causing Morj to flinch. "Coming up behind you, _vod_."

Morj sidled up to the door and glanced back. Oni had his DC-17 and Sprocket had his pistol primed for the interior of the house. The chances of a dangerous incident going down in an abandoned home were slim to none, but Morj wasn't going to get killed for being sloppy. He whirled around the door, deece aiming around the room. Nothing. He turned on his helmet's spotlight so that he could see and he edged further into the house, Oni and Sprocket covering him.

"Nothing," Morj reported.

"Are there other floors?" Oni asked.

"Maybe. Well--"

There was a crash. Morj came back into the main room and found himself aiming his deece at Sprocket. "I knocked over a vase," the pilot said, shoulders slumped.

Oni sighed. "You're b--"

A door opened up the corridor that Morj had just exited. He whirled around and leveled his deece. An old man with his hands in the air was standing in the dim hall, eyes so wide that Morj expected them to pop out of their sockets. He imagined he would look like that, too, if three armored clones were pointing blasters at him.

"Name, sir," Morj said.

"Beldoff Grim." The man clenched his jaw.

Morj's gaze was glued to the man--the movement of his eyes, where his hands were. He was wearing a thin, red shirt with black stripes on it, and he had a gray beard that was stained brown around his mouth.

Grim let out a sigh. "What're you doing in my house?"

"The door was unlocked," said Oni.

"I'm fifty klicks from anyone else. I usually can leave the door unlocked without hooligans in armor coming in."

Morj noted that the man might be senile if he thought he could berate three large men with military-issue blaster rifles.

"Sir, we apologize for breaking in," said Oni. "We were looking for shelter, and your house appeared abandoned."

"Shelter? Is that all you want?" The man snorted. "I thought you were trying to rob me." His words were slow and had a strange tang to them, an accent Morj hadn't heard before. "I can give you a ride into town. See if you can find transport out of there."

"We need to keep a low profile," Oni said on the private com. "Going into town in full armor doesn't seem wise. We should try to stay here until I get in contact with GAR."

"What, you mean invite ourselves to stay here? Isn't that rude?" Sprocket asked. "Maybe we'd better do what he wants. The last thing we need is for him to contact somebody to get rid of us. We can figure something out in town."

"Or we could shoot him," Morj muttered.

"No, we don't need any blood of the innocent on our hands," Oni grumbled. He switched to an audio channel. "Thanks for the offer, sir. We'll go into town."

The man led him to the hangar where a vintage speeder had been parked. He got in the driver's seat and Oni and Sprocket clambered into the back seat, leaving Morj to sit next to Beldoff Grim in the passenger seat. Grim started pushing buttons on a strange console on the speeder. Sprocket squinted at it.

"Is that a signal transmitter?" Sprocket asked.

"No. It's a subspace transceiver, but it doesn't work anymore, it seems."

The clones fell silent. Grim started up the speeder and pulled it out of the hangar, following a path that had been cleared through the trees leading back to the plain. Morj gaped at it. If they had only been a few meters to the right of where they had been walking, they could have followed a path all the way to Grim's house instead of weaving around trees and unstable terrain.

Not even Sprocket had the energy to strike up a conversation with Grim. Morj glanced at him without moving his helmet. The man seemed stiff, his hands were clenching the steering wheel with a tight grip. The speeder wasn't moving very fast, and while Morj's immediate thought should have been that it was old and inefficient, his suspicions made him wonder otherwise.

About twenty-six klicks from the house, Morj's helmet picked up an incoming vehicle. He had about two seconds to grab for his RPG connector before it was too late.

"_Osik_! It's a Sep!" Oni shouted, looking behind them.

The crescendo of an incoming missile was the last thing Morj could remember.

**Medbay of the **_**Nonmaleficence**_**, Null Zone, Mid Rim**

Signe Amrun woke up with a jolt. Bubbles formed around her face and obscured her vision, which was tinted blue. The blurry forms of Amiel and Commander Law were standing in front of her. She took in a breath and tried not to gag at the smell and taste of bacta as the tank made a whirring noise, and the bacta began to drain.

Several minutes later, Signe was taken to a changing room by a droid. The droid checked her over and seemed satisfied with her condition, then it rolled out to tend to the other wounded.

Signe stood in her damp gown and stared at her arms. The skin all along the top of her arms was scarred with pink and white web-like aberrations. They went up her right shoulder, and Signe tentatively touched her neck. Her fingers felt the scars, but her neck felt nothing. She took a couple of deep breaths, wracking her brain to remember. There was an explosion of fire in her face, a lot of pain, blasters firing, yelling--Amiel had been at her side. But after that, it was blurry.

There was a loud knock on the door. "General?"

A block of permacrete might as well have been standing there from the Force imprint left by Commander Law. "Yes, Commander?"

"I know you're not--decent--but I feel the need to debrief you."

"No need to wait. Talk to me, Law."

Signe found a stack of clothes on a small table--a black undershirt, gray-green tunic, and a new brown cloak, as well as a pair of boots. She looked to the door as Commander Law's imprint fluctuated slightly.

"You were badly burned. Men on speeder bikes--later indentified as a faction of the Bounty Hunter Guild--attacked our camp at approximately 1100 hours, setting fire to most of it. Reports indicate that they may have been after the high bounty on the Jedi set by Separatists."

"I'm lucky to be alive," Signe said, thinking aloud.

"You have Commander Kurr to thank for that. She stabilized you long enough for me to get you to our larty off of that rock."

Signe finished slipping on her boots, then she picked up her cloak and opened the door. Law was standing without his helmet just outside of her room. He saluted her. She caught his eyes darting to her neck, the only exposed area from her burns.

"At ease, Commander." She smiled at him. "Good to see you alive. Is--the triage unit okay?"

"There were losses," Law replied, and he left it at that. He seemed to remember something and handed Signe her com. "I'm sorry, General. It kept ringing and I thought it was urgent. I--checked it."

Signe's blood ran cold. She checked the text-messaging screen and looked up with Law with wide eyes. "You can't tell anyone about--what you saw."

"I won't tell anyone, General. I don't even know who Oni is. Read the message." Law stepped back from her to give her some space, redirecting his helmet at another door in the corridor.

Signe stared at the message in her hand.

RC-4111, RC-6531, CT-1789: MIA.

"Master!" Amiel was jogging up the hallway. When she saw that Signe was looking at her com, her broad smile faded and she stopped running, now just walking at a brisk pace. "Before you read all of that, Master, there's new information coming in."

"What kind of new information?" Signe asked, clutching the com tightly.

"They landed safely on Bakura. But--"

"What?"

"Their tracking signals disappeared. And they're not responding to any transmissions." Amiel blinked. "Master?"

Signe already began a transmission on her com. A scruffy-looking man appeared in the hologram, his robes billowing out in the wind and his arms folded over his chest. "General Jusik, this is General Amrun. I'm volunteering for the commando rescue mission."


	9. Downbound

_A/N: Sorry about the really slow update! It was more of a time crunch than it was a "writer's block." So that's good. I'm going to be really busy this next week, too, but everything's plotted and ready to go!_

_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

Downbound

**Star Cruiser** _**Nonmaleficence**_**, Null Zone, Mid Rim**

General Bardan Jusik's hologram crackled. "Volunteering?" He snorted and took out his datapad. "General, you've just come out of a nasty Republic defeat. And you're injured."

He wasn't going to tell her "no." But he was going to try and convince her not to go--that wasn't happening. Another gust of wind whisked past Jusik, causing him to glare at her. He seemed annoyed. That would mean this would be a short conversation, or a tiresome and loud one.

Signe hesitated throwing out the "rank" card. Commandos were Jusik's jurisdiction and she didn't want to undermine whatever operations he had going. "My Padawan and I are fully prepared for this mission. We've done a rescue before."

"Mmhmm." He seemed to be thinking what she was thinking--_yeah, with four commandos and a whole legion as a distraction_.

Signe squinted at him. Sometimes she had to remind herself that the tiny, funny-looking blue person in the hologram was an actual person with an actual rank that she couldn't turn off and shove in her pocket. New tactic. "General, my Padawan is nearing the end of her trials. This last one may mean Knighthood for her."

General Jusik sighed, causing some static to go through the audio. "All right. You'll lead the rescue mission, General Amrun. Good luck. Jusik out."

Pocketing her com, Signe looked over at Amiel and shielded her mind. She didn't know if Amiel was ready for Knighthood yet. Had she used her Padawan as an excuse to rescue her lover and his brothers?

_**Exotic Getaways**_** Cruise Liner, Dorumaa, Mid Rim**

Jatne learned that normal people spent their free time watching the migration of brightly colored fish on their expensive cruise vacations. He also learned that he would never have children.

Ever.

It all started when Gev won two out of three games of rock, paper, scissors, and Gev took it upon himself to accompany Governor Fach to the fish migration watch deck. As they left, Gev had explained to the Governor that the fish had been known to breach the water and hit the ship so hard that it wobbled. While Gev earned _uj_ cake points, Jatne was left in the suite with four children under the age of ten.

"Your ear is weird! Why is it weird?"

"Mimie took my game and she won't give it back!"

"_I'm_ talking to Mr Jatne!" Rolan snapped, shoving his younger sister Elina out of the way.

"Hey!" Jatne snapped. He reached out and steadied Elina, then held her back from retaliating against Rolan. It was the only assertion of control he had managed since the Governor left. "Don't push your sister, Rolan."

Rolan huffed and folded his arms. "Okay. So what's with your ear?"

"It got shot," Jatne said. He didn't remember how. Supposedly he was unconscious when it happened.

"Cool! Did it hurt?"

"I don't remember."

"Mr Jatne! My game!" Elina whined.

"All right, all right!" Jatne followed Elina into the bedroom that the girls were sharing. Plum, the youngest, was asleep with a plush animal in her arms and her thumb in her mouth. Mimie was sitting next to Plum with a device in her hand. When she looked at the approaching clone, whose kind eyes couldn't make up for his huge frame, she went rigid and held the device close.

"It's mine!" Mimie insisted.

"It belonged to Mom!" Elina snapped. "Dad gave it to me!"

"He said we were supposed to share it!"

Jatne looked over at Rolan in hopes of getting an explanation. Rolan shrugged. "Mom was programming a game before--well--"

Jatne nodded to show he understood.

"So Dad gave it to the girls to play with. Maybe one day they'll finish it."

While Jatne had his attention on the eldest son, Elina and Mimie had become tangled up in a quarrel. Jatne tried to get them apart, but then Rolan jumped in and Jatne stood helplessly with his hands hovering near the wrestling pile of children. Plum was roused by the ruckus and started whimpering.

"I got it!" Rolan jumped up and ran out, followed by his two sisters. Jatne heard the door leading outside slide open.

"_Fierfek_." Jatne scooped the drowsy Plum into his arms and hurried out of the room.

Outside, the sun was bright and made Jatne squint. His head whipped from side to side until he saw that Rolan had run several paces away and was standing with his arm outstretched over the railing. His blond hair reflecting sunrays gave the illusion of a messy halo around his head. Elina and Mimie were frozen in front of him.

"Rolan!" Jatne shouted as he hurried over. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to teach them a lesson!" Rolan insisted. "If you two can't share Mom's game, maybe you don't deserve it!"

"Stop being stupid!" Elina snapped.

"We weren't going to break it!" Mimie shouted.

There was a loud thud and the ship creaked and teetered. Rolan's elbow hit the railing with a resonant clang and his hand let go of the device, dropping it down the side of the ship and into the ocean.

"You're stupid!" Plum told Rolan.

Jatne handed Plum to Mimie and hoisted himself over the railing, plummeting feet first into the water. His hand closed around the device. The water was warm and salty and flooded in through his nose and ears. He couldn't find the surface. His lungs started to burn and his arms and legs flailed to propel his head above the water, but he seemed to continue sinking.

Jatne's heart began to race. Was he panicking? He had felt panicked once before when the rock was crushing his leg and Oni was staring down at him. It was the second time in his life he really thought he was going to die.

**En Route to Bakura**

_Message received from Commander Avan Kaden, Jedi Knight, 0100 Hours_

SIG,

BEEN TRYING FOR A YEAR AND A HALF TO GET A SWEET BATTLE SCAR. ASKED HARSH TO CUT ME. HE WOULDN'T. THEN YOU GO AND GET BURNED. NICE, SIG.

HARSH IS WAITING FOR YOU WITH SOME DATA THAT SHOULD BE USEFUL FOR LOCATING YOUR CLONES. PLEASE TAKE CARE OF HIM.

HUGS,

AVAN

_OK to delete message?_

_Message deleted_

"Master?"

Signe placed her datapad aside on the ship's control panel. Stars zoomed by in bright streaks across the cockpit's viewing windows. She looked over at her Padawan and was met with a searching gaze. "Yes?"

"I killed a man yesterday."

Signe leaned forward and tried not to let on that she was surprised, disturbed, or proud. "Who? What happened?"

"The bounty hunter that had the flamethrower. He was right there when I came outside and you were already on the ground. So I killed him."

Her Padawan looked down at her hands in her lap. Signe let out a long breath. She had never killed anyone, and it was a strange feeling knowing that her Padawan had done something she hadn't. "I should be thanking you."

"I felt him--becoming one with the Force. It was really weird." Amiel looked up and squinted. Her up-turned nose seemed to be evening out now that she was getting older, and she was growing into her large front teeth.

"I remember my first kill."

The two Jedi turned and saw Captain Harsh standing with his hands on either side of the door to the cockpit. His helmet was off and he had spiky, bleached-red hair.

"I was four years old when it happened. Live rounds. Shot a brother." One of his eyebrows arched as he stared down Amiel. "Commander, just be glad you slotted a bad guy and don't think about it any more."

"Okay," she said, embarrassment welling around her.

"General, I think there's a piece of the cargo hold that requires some Jedi attention, lest we get sucked into space and freeze to death."

"All right, Captain." Signe suppressed a grin because she wasn't sure if Harsh was being facetious or not. "Amiel, you're in charge of the cockpit."

Signe left her Padawan sitting in her seat, staring at her lightsaber hilt in her hands.

**Unknown Facility, Bakura, Outer Rim**

"Hey! Sprocket! Stay with me!"

"Huh?"

"Concentrate on what I'm saying!"

"Okay."

"Don't fall asleep. You might not wake up."

"Okay."

Morj sucked in a hesitant breath. He knew his shoulder was dislocated and there were growing contusions on his chest and side. He was in a cell chained up and he could see through the energy shield that Sprocket was in a separate cell across from him, slumped back against the wall where the interrogators left him.

"What did they do to you?" Morj asked.

"They hurt me."

Morj chewed on the inside of his lip. He had to assume that because they took Oni away, Sprocket didn't tell them anything. And neither would Oni. Morj groped for something to talk about. "What's the most interesting thing in the galaxy?"

"That you're so ugly and you have a girlfriend," Sprocket said. His words were slow and belabored.

Morj smirked. "You'd be even more surprised at how pretty she is."

"Got a picture?"

"I don't like incriminating myself."

"Oh. What's it like?"

"What's _what_ like?" Morj asked darkly.

"Being in love. You do love her, right?"

"Yes." Morj thought about it. He wasn't exactly sure what love felt like outside of physical contact. He supposed taking the time to find Lyda a plant and sending her messages when they were apart had something to do with it. "It's--rewarding."

Sprocket snorted. "I'm talking to the wrong guy." He lazily reached his hand up to his face and rubbed his cheek. "Oni's the sap, isn't he?"

"He's a _shabuir_."

"Come on. He's your _vod_."

"He cares more about the General than us. It's going to get us k--"

"He's with a _General_?"

Morj swore to himself.

"What's she like?"

"She was fun until she met Oni and became a Master."

"So she _is_ a Jedi!" Sprocket was as excited as one could be after an interrogation. "What do you mean she was 'fun?' I never met a fun Jedi."

"I don't know. She liked to joke around and play games with soldiers when she had the time. Her Master was the same way. But then she and Oni started--doing whatever--and suddenly she got all serious."

"Huh," Sprocket said. "Is she pretty?"

"I guess so."

The conversation hung still in the air for several seconds. Then a high-pitched beeping started echoing into the holding chamber.

"What's happening?" Sprocket asked.

"I don't know." Morj tried to conjure the energy to panic.

Morj looked up at the ceiling at squinted. It was hard to see clearly through the energy shield in his containment cell, but it looked like something was poking out of the ceiling. Then there were three loud bangs, a clank as a circular piece of metal hit the floor, and suddenly Amiel Kurr was standing in front of him. "Morj!"

His jaw dropped.

Amiel stabbed her lightsaber into the control panel, causing the energy fields in the containment shields to short out. She rushed over to Morj and did away with his bindings.

"I've got a dislocated--"

"Shoulder. I know. And bruises. This is going to hurt." Amiel picked up his arm and shut her eyes. She didn't move--but something popped his humerus into the glenoid fossa of his shoulder. He shouted in pain, then her hands were on his shoulder, and he felt a cooling sensation under his skin.

"Can you walk?" she asked as she got him to his feet.

"Yeah," he said tightly.

Amiel got up and tended to Sprocket, who stared at her as she touched his chest. "Hi," he said dreamily.

"You have--electrical burns," she said with a frown.

"I'm okay. Oh--that feels good." Sprocket slid down the wall a little and shut his eyes as Amiel applied a Force heal to his chest. Her cheeks were turning a little red.

"Can you walk?"

"I might need a little help."

Amiel folded in her lips and helped Sprocket to his feet, and he slung his arm around her shoulder. She led Sprocket to the hole in the ceiling where she had entered. Captain Harsh was waiting, and he lowered a harness for Morj. He strapped himself in and looked at Amiel before Harsh started pulling him up. "I thought it was ladies first," he muttered.

"Nope." Amiel patted his shin as he was lifted into the air. When he made it out, Harsh lowered the harness for Sprocket. Amiel helped him put it on without injuring himself, then he, too, was lifted.

Signe poked her head over the edge of the hole. "Where's Oni?"

"Not here, Master." Amiel clenched and unclenched her fists.

"Take Morj and Sprocket to the ship, Harsh. We'll be back with Oni."

"Yes, ma'am."

Signe dropped down the ceiling and started walking toward the door, drawing her lightsabers. Amiel scurried after her. "Master, something--"

"I know. Someone's coming. Maybe you should go with the Captain."

"No, Master! This is my trial!"

Signe looked over at Amiel. She grappled between the danger of the situation and letting on to her lie about Amiel's readiness.

"I'm going!" Amiel said resolutely. She activated her lightsaber and opened the door with a Force push.

"Amiel, wait!"

But her Padawan had disappeared out the door and around the corner. "Oh, _fierfek_," Signe swore as she switched on her lightsabers and followed. The corridor was dark, but she could see that her Padawan had waited a moment in an intersection at the end of the hallway.

No. She was in a fighting stance.

"Amiel!" Signe screamed as she watched her Padawan get thrown off of her feet. Signe took two long Force-enhanced strides to the end of the hallway, turned to the left, and found her lightsabers locked with a red blade.


	10. Unforgotten

Unforgotten

_**Exotic Getaways**_** Cruise Liner, Dorumaa, Mid Rim**

Jatne felt a hand close around his, then an arm wrangled him around his midsection, then he emerged from the water into warm sunlight. The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back and the sun was bright, then someone was pushing on his chest. He started coughing, and water ejected from his lungs and stomach. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw his brother, and over a dozen vacationers circled around him. He made a face like a nerf in headlights.

A stranger handed Jatne a towel, which he took and used to dry off his face. Gev helped him to his feet.

"Nothing to see here, folks!" Gev said to the crowd. "Just a bloke who can't swim."

Jatne walked with Gev back to their suite, looking down at the dripping device in his hand. Would it even work anymore? Inside, the three of the four Fach children were situated in corners, standing at the walls. Rolan looked over his shoulder at Jatne with an apologetic frown. Plum was sitting on a recliner with her plush animal in her arms.

Governor Fach came out of his room, towel-drying his short hair. "You gave us a scare, Jatne."

"I know. Sorry. If it wasn't for Gev, I think I'd be dead."

Gev spread his hands. "Don't look at me! Governor Fach here jumped in after you."

Governor Fach grinned. "I wanted to return the favor for the 'saving my life' bit."

"Thanks," Jatne said with a small smile. He held out the device to the Governor. "I don't really know if it's going to work anymore."

"We'll figure it out," Fach said, taking the device. "You two go rest for a while. I've got things under control here. Oh." His voice became sharp. "Rolan!"

The young boy scurried over to his father and stood rigidly. "I'm sorry, Mr Jatne!"

"It's okay, Rolan. I--" Jatne paused as Rolan hugged him around his midsection. He looked up at Fach, who shrugged. Jatne patted Rolan on the back. "You were just trying to help."

Rolan detached from Jatne and went back to the corner. Gev took Jatne back into the room they shared and tossed a fresh set of clothes to him.

"Weren't we trained how to swim?" Jatne asked as he changed.

"You forgot, I guess," Gev replied. He stood at the window with his arms folded.

"I've forgotten a lot of things lately. I don't remember the names of my old squad mates. I can barely remember what Geonosis looks like. What happened to my ear, Gev?"

"It got shot."

"I know. But don't we wear _helmets_?"

"If I told you something that the General told me not to tell you, would you tell on me?"

Jatne chewed over that question. "I wouldn't tell on you. I just want answers."

Gev stared out the window for a moment, then he turned around. "You got captured. Tortured. You told us a Jedi messed with your head, and afterwards, you weren't the same Jatne we knew."

"Captured?" Jatne asked. He had wracked his brain so many times trying to remember his old squad that he had given up trying to remember anything else.

"Yeah," Gev said, his back still turned on Jatne. "Amiel--"

"Rescued me?" Jatne paused, his brow creasing. "I remember seeing Amyr's son, and an ARC Trooper, and a Jedi with black hair."

"Yeah, that was Captain Harsh and Commander Kaden. They brought you back. Then Amiel wiped your memory of it."

Jatne swallowed. "She can do that?"

"We were surprised, too."

"Is that why I can't remember other stuff?"

Gev shrugged. "I don't know, _Jat'ika_. Maybe we should talk to somebody about it. For now--Dem, Reg, and Sev were your old squad mates."

"Sev's alive."

"Right."

Jatne kept to himself that Dem and Reg were dead.

"Let's get you some swim lessons."

**Unknown Facility, Bakura, Outer Rim**

The man was an Umbaran. His eyes were pale, skin blue, gaunt--he could have been a corpse.

Signe pushed him back and got into some semblance of a fighting form, her green Shien reverse-hand blade in front of her, and gold lightsaber at her side. The Sith grinned with pointed teeth and gave his red blade a twirl. The Force around him was an enigma of unbridled power. Signe narrowed her eyes and shielded her mind from him--he was weak. He knew it. She felt Amiel come up and stand beside her. Three lightsabers against one.

Signe pounced and swung her lightsabers at the Sith, and Amiel followed. In a flurry of light and loud collisions of the blades, the Sith parried and began a slow retreat. His eerie eyes betrayed no fear as he deflected the Jedi attacks.

They passed a wide doorway. Signe's attention was immediately drawn inside where her lover was on the ground, his signal in the Force weak.

_He's dying_.

There was a loud crash and Amiel disappeared under the ceiling that had collapsed above her, and suddenly a red blade was being swiped at Signe. She managed to avoid losing her hand, but her gold lightsaber was severed in two and cast aside. Signe froze with her green lightsaber in front of her, her chest feeling as if it had just collapsed on itself.

Signe's knuckles turned white as she stared down the Umbaran, who squared off with her again. A muscle above his right eye tightened as he noticed a severe fluctuation in the Force. Signe let out a yell and jumped at him, attacking wildly with her lightsaber and a combination of intermittent Force-pushes from her free hand. The Sith tried desperately to avoid her attacks, but many of them landed, causing him to stumble or falter in his parries. Signe knelt down and swept his legs while he was reeling. He began to fall, and Signe tore her lightsaber through his knees. He hit the ground.

Rising, Signe stared down at him and pressed the tip of her lightsaber into his chest, letting it burn while he squirmed and screamed with pain. Then she ran him through, as little resistance in his heart as pushing her lightsaber through air.

"Master!" Amiel cried out. She was climbing out of the rubble and had several cuts on her face and arms. But she was in one piece.

Signe turned back to her, saw she was okay, then she ran into the room where Oni was lying. She rushed to his side and scooped him up into her lap. He was bleeding. The blood caked the floor around him.

"Signe?"

"It's okay. I'm here. You're going to be okay."

"He showed me how you died."

"What?"

"You were in a fire, and you died, and I wasn't going to see you again."

"No, Oni, I'm fine--and you're going to be fine." He'd lost so much blood. He was delirious. Signe held him tighter.

"He broke Jatne. He told me."

"It's okay. He's dead. It's okay."

"You're not dead." Oni smiled slowly. "I don't know what I'd do without you, _cyar'ika_." He sucked in a wheezing breath. "You know that... I love you, right?"

"Yes, Oni. I do. I love you."

"And you're alive."

Signe bent over him, gripping his cooling body, trying to keep the life in him. She felt his breath on his neck. Then nothing.

"Oni!" Signe squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face into him. She breathed in his scent and shouted his name over and over again. His body was limp.

"Master, we need to go," Amiel said unsteadily. She sniffed. Signe looked up and watched her Padawan wipe her eyes with the back of her hand.

Signe thought about staying, telling Amiel to leave and report that she had died. She would never have to kill or watch a person die. But she let go of Oni, slowly, and stood up. Amiel beckoned her toward the door, but something caught Signe's eye in another corner of the warehouse-sized room. There were barrels that were branded with the symbol for flammable contaminants.

Signe took out the only ordnance she carried--one thermal detonator that Morj gave her, for a "tight situation"--and rolled it over to the barrels. She took the detonation trigger and held it in her fist, and followed Amiel out of the complex, willing herself not to look over her shoulder one last time.

Amiel reached back and grabbed her Master by the hand to lead her to where Harsh was waiting for them with the ship. They walked up the ramp and into the small cargo hold where Morj and Sprocket were waiting. Morj stiffened when he saw they didn't have Oni. Signe could see in his eyes the calculations as to why.

"No," he whispered. Signe stared at him, deadpan. "No."

"Captain, get us out of here," Amiel called to Harsh in the cockpit. The engines fired up and the ship lifted.

Morj turned and walked away from the Jedi, pacing erratically. He started swearing under his breath and shaking his head, then he stopped and put his hand over his eyes. Signe walked up to him as he started shaking and cursing again, his muscles tensing to keep her away like a cornered animal. She wrapped her arms around him and embraced him.

"Get off. Don't try and make it better! It's not going to get better!"

Burying her face into his shoulder, Signe held on tighter. She didn't try and influence his mind, she just held him until he relaxed. Then she pushed the button on the detonator.

_**Exotic Getaways**_** Cruise Liner, Dorumaa, Mid Rim**

_Message received from General Signe Amrun, Jedi Master, 2300 Hours_

I COULDN'T SAVE HIM.

Jatne and Gev were sitting on the edge of a dock, both staring at the screens of their coms. The Governor was kind enough to end his vacation early and find an escort home with his children, and now the commandos were waiting for evac at an empty resort. They didn't know what happened. Neither of them spoke.

Gev's com beeped suddenly. "_Osik_, almost went into cardiac arrest," he muttered. He answered it.

"General Jusik here," the hologram said.

"RC-0329 here."

"I'm sorry about your squad leader."

Gev nodded.

General Jusik tapped his finger on the surface of the desk he was sitting at. He was grizzled and distracted, but Gev could tell his hesitation had to be some indication that he was uncomfortable. That, maybe, a Jedi besides Signe or Amiel cared about what happened. "I'm assigning you as squad leader. CT-1789 will be your fourth man."

Gev knew there was no arguing. "Yes, sir."

"Take care, Gev."

"You too, General."

"General Jusik out."

Gev closed his com and looked over at Jatne, who stared back at him with glassy eyes. Gev forced a grin. "Not even a congratulations? What kind of a brother are you?" Gev broke off and pinched the bridge of his nose, turning away.

Jatne looked down and deleted the message he had received from GAR telling him that RC-4111 was KIA. "I didn't want to have to do this again."

"I know."

"Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if Amiel could just... you know. Erase the hurt."

"Wouldn't the galaxy just be a _shab'la_ paradise if she could?" Gev glared out across the black waters at the horizon, which melded with the purple starlit sky. "You know what else?"

"What?"

"She's in love with you."

"No she isn't. And what does it matter? Things never go right."

"So you've thought about it?"

"Maybe a _little_."

"Our time here is too short to mess around like this. Oni and Signe had their time together. It's _osik_ that he's gone, but I doubt he died with regrets. Do what you have to, _Jat'ika_."

The commandos fell silent for what felt like hours. Before long, a Republic transport ship landed in the shipyard, and Gev and Jatne stood, shouldered their packs, and began walking to the yard.

Amiel was there to meet him. She had a bandage on her forehead and cheek, and she had dark circles under her eyes. She embraced both of them, her small frame wrapped up by their big arms.

"_Su'cuy gar_," Gev said.

"Good to see you alive," Jatne murmured to translate. "We didn't know you would be picking us up."

"Master pulled some strings," Amiel replied as she parted from them and started walking. "I heard you're the new squad leader, Gev."

"Yep. Don't really want to talk about it, though."

When they arrived on the ship, Sprocket was sitting next to Morj in the hold. Sprocket stood up when the two commandos entered and he held out his hand to them. "Sprocket. Your new squad mate."

"Gev. New squad leader."

"Jatne. Still a sniper." Jatne shook Sprocket's hand because Gev hadn't.

Gev looked at Amiel. "What happened?"

"A Sith killed Oni." Amiel hardened her face, brow crinkling. "It was an interrogation. Master destroyed the Sith. We--we were too late for Oni."

Gev pinched the bridge of his nose and let the information soak in. He had nothing to say. The silence was heavy and Jatne had to swallow the growing lump in his throat. "I'm glad the Sith didn't kill you, too."

Amiel didn't look at any of them. "I need to check on Master."

Tearing herself away, Amiel ascended the stairs to the quarters where Signe had shut herself. Amiel stepped into the room on her tiptoes and closed the door behind her. Signe was standing with her back to the door, her cloak discarded on the bed.

"If it had been anyone else, he would still be alive."

Amiel let her Master continue.

"You know? We were minutes too late. Minutes. Anybody who was closer could have saved him, but I made Jusik let me go."

"Master--there was a Sith."

Signe reached her hand up to her head and unclipped the barrette pinning back her bangs.

"More people could have died if they went instead. You were acting on what you thought was right in the Force."

"No. I wasn't. I was acting on what I wanted. I use the Force to keep my troops and myself alive, but to insinuate I still follow the Jedi way, for the greater good--I don't know about that."

In the silence, Amiel could hear her Master as she swallowed. "Master? I don't want to become a Knight yet."

Signe lifted her eyes to the ceiling and nodded. "I don't want you to leave me," she said, her voice wavering. She sniffed and sucked in three staggering breaths, her eyes closing. Amiel could see the front of Signe's robes was stained with Oni's blood. The Padawan walked forward, extended her arms, and hugged her Master until she was too weak to continue to weep.

**Arca Company Barracks, Coruscant**

"We're airing our dirty laundry right now." Gev dropped his pack in the middle of the floor and looked up at his squad. "I'm in love with a purple Twi'lek Padawan. Morj, go."

"I'm sleeping with a Padawan."

Sprocket wrung his hands in his lap. "I already knew that."

"The other thing, Morj," Gev said.

"I think I killed our original squad leader because I'm a screw up."

Sprocket lifted his eyebrows and looked at Jatne.

"I got kidnapped by a Sith, got my ear shot off, and Amiel is so in love with me that she wiped my memory of it."

"Ooo," said Sprocket. "Okay, Gev gets a three out of ten because crushing on Jedi is getting a little old. Morj gets an eight-point-eight, and Jatne gets a seven."

"But my secret is about crushing on--" Jatne started.

"The extra points are for the mind-wipe."

Gev folded his arms and leaned his weight on one leg. He kept a tuft of scruff on his chin and the long hair from vacation. "Now you know our dirty secrets, Sprock. You got anything?"

"No. I have a feeling I'll start accumulating some."

"_Nothing_?"

Sprocket scratched his head. "I _had_ a crush on Commander Kurr, but looks like she's preoccupied."

"She's not taken," Jatne spoke up.

"It sounds like she is, _vod_. I mean, wiping your memory? That's practically a first date."

"It's not exactly great for me," Jatne said in a low voice. "I can't remember stuff."

"He almost drowned," Gev said with half a smirk. Jatne glared at him.

Sprocket rubbed his chin in thought. "I know someone who might be able to help you. Do you know General Ramseur?"

Jatne shook his head, not noticing that Morj had just gone rigid. Jatne was just happy the subject had changed. "I don't know him."

"He helped a clone I knew who had amnesia. I'll contact him and see if he can do anything for you."

Gev kept his mouth shut. General Amrun told him that memory wiping was irreversible. Whatever Amiel deleted aside from what she intended, they would have to find out on the fly. "It wouldn't hurt," he said.

**Dormitory of the **_**Nonmaleficence**_

Amiel stared down at the comlink in her hands. She was alone in her quarters, and Master Amrun had gone with Commander Law for a mission briefing. She wanted to catch up with her friends from the Temple. She had been neglecting them, and she needed to stop wasting her time and being a child. She could be dead tomorrow.

A young man with ear-length hair answered on the other end. His eyes widened and he smiled when he saw Amiel. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Good to talk to you!"

"A few weeks, yeah," Amiel replied. She smiled too for the first time in a couple of days. "How's Knighthood, Clayne? Or should I say _General Ves'len_?"

"It's--going." Clayne's smile faltered as he studied Amiel the best he could. The holograms weren't exactly high-res. "Are you all right?"

Amiel sighed. What was she supposed to say? That she was sad a clone died? She was, of course, but it happened so often now... She didn't even want to think about it. "I'm just fine, Clayne. Tired."

"Me too, Amiel." There was a short lull as they stared at each other, then a clone helmet popped up behind Clayne's shoulder.

"Hello, Amiel!" said the clone.

"Zero?!" Clayne asked, throwing his hands up into the air. Amiel wondered how the clone knew her name.

"Hi, Zero," she said with a hesitant smile.

"Good to finally meet you, Commander," Zero said in the usual diplomatic manner of soldiers.

Amiel folded in her lips. She had known Clayne since she was a Youngling, and suddenly she felt as if she had done him an injustice by never calling him or even thinking about him. And there he was, mentioning her to his troops.

The door burst open. Amiel, scandalized, saw Naro standing with his hands on either side of the doorframe. "Are you talking to a boy?" Naro demanded with a booming voice.

"Clayne, I gotta go."

"What? Who's there? Do you need me to come and--" Amiel closed the com transmission and glared at Naro.

"That got your attention. Listen, it's time to go, Commander."

Amiel continued glaring at him.

"I'm not above hauling your _shebs_ to the ship."

"I'm coming," Amiel said, sliding off her seat, brushing passed Naro, and exiting the room.

Naro followed her up the hallway, matching her brisk pace. "You're just sore that I interrupted your secret Jedi conversation."

Amiel let out a long breath before she replied. "Yeah. That's it."


	11. Particles

_A/N: Hey guys! Been a while, hasn't it? Sorry about the slowness. School and spring break have both been busy! You've made it to the final segment of "Burdens." Congratulations! I honestly had to rush the crap out of this chapter. Some things didn't work out like I wanted them too. Oh, well, that's life. I'm thinking there will be one big one or two small chapters to finish this part off in the very near future._

_After some deliberation, I've decided to take my characters through Order 66. That will be done in a sequel story so that this one doesn't get too long. :)__ Anyway, enjoy! I really appreciate all of your reviews and in-depth feedback!_

Particles

**En Route to Saleucami, Outer Rim**

Sprocket looked around at his new squad, his helmet visor stopping on Gev. "I'm a slow trooper. So recap the mission for me, fearless leader."

"We're doing a recce on a Sep planet."

"A recce? Don't we have intel to do that kind of stuff?"

"Yep. They already went."

"And?"

"They found out it was a Sep planet."

"_Shab_, what do we even pay them for?"

Gev snorted and tried to stifle his laughter. "Oh, Sprock. If only we had met earlier."

"I would prefer if you had never met," Morj grumbled.

Jatne sat with his helmet in his lap, running his gloved fingers along the surface. It was scratched, dented, and dirty. He remembered crawling through the catacomb tunnels of the droid factory on Geonosis, when his first squad had been alive. The rest was shaky in his mind. But he remembered painting his armor with Dem, Reg, and Sev--three black horizontal lines crossing halfway across his chest plates, and two vertically over his helmet.

Looking over to his left where Morj was sitting, he saw shiny, new armor. Morj had painted the helmet with purplish-red accents, the color of fresh blood. Sprocket's new gear was blank, and he cited "artistic difficulties." Gev kept the diagonal, red sash of Sigma on his plastoid plates.

"Way to kill the buzz." Gev fidgeted in the straps holding him in the transport's seats.

"We're not buzzed."

"Yes we are. It's called adrenaline and it comes out of your brain."

"It's from the adrenal glands, _di'kut_." Morj reached over and flicked Jatne in the temple, hard. One side of his mouth curled up in a half-grin. "Put your bucket on, or else Gev might see what a brain looks like when it leaks out of your ears."

Jatne chuckled and put his helmet back on and loaded the heads-up display. A blinking icon indicated a new message, which he checked. It was from Amiel--no, Commander Kurr. She was Commander Kurr.

GOOD LUCK, JATNE!

Jatne opened a private com channel with Gev. "Did Commander Kurr send you a message?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Jatne let out a sigh of relief. "No reason."

"So, that's it?" Sprocket asked. "We recce, party, and leave?"

"Hold on, getting another transmission." Gev put his hand to his ear and turned his head away from the squad to listen. Jatne wondered who was calling him that didn't want to show himself on the hologram.

Gev turned back to the squad and let out a long breath. "He forgot all the data."

"Who?"

"The mongrel intel guy." Gev shook his head. There were some non-clone soldiers entering the ranks where troop numbers were lacking. Some of them weren't very good. "New direct orders are in from General Zey. This is sabotage now. Disarmament of some anti-aircraft, scrambling some communications posts. There's some sort of cloning facility there, and GAR's going to invade."

"I left my sabotage pants in my locker!" Sprocket said, trying to snap his fingers but failing with the gloves.

"Cloning facility? For the Seps?" Jatne asked.

Gev tapped a finger on his helmet where his mouth would be. "That's what the man said."

"What a brilliant idea," Morj said, deadpan.

**Republic Lines, end of the battle, Outer Rim**

A round object hit the ground, making the thud of something dense. It was a head. It was easier to kill with a lightsaber that wasn't hers--there was no guilt involved, no thought of "What would Master Dagen think?" The green reverse-hand lightsaber belonged to a dead man. He wouldn't care if she enjoyed using it.

"Master!" Amiel called out. She was breathless.

Signe turned around and saw her Padawan standing above her on the bulwarks. Deactivating the lightsaber, Signe put it back on her belt and stepped over one of the half a dozen corpses that had fallen around her. She picked up a pouch from the remains of the Separatist and put the ammunition in a compartment on her belt.

"You--really were okay, weren't you?" Amiel's hazel eyes could have been the headlights on a larty.

"Yes, Amiel." Signe let out a breath. She could have visualized the figurative fire escaping her mouth. Amiel sensed what she was feeling--the sheer i_awe_/i of how simple it was for a lightsaber to cleave a neck. A wrist. A torso.

"You're worrying me, Master."

"I'm okay." Signe used a Force-assisted jump to reach her Padawan and began walking with her. Two Republic transports flew over them and artillery boomed in the distance. The battle was waning, but Signe hadn't brought herself down from the battle high.

"I think you're 'carrying a burden that you don't have to,'" Amiel said, not looking at Signe.

"I'm just doing my job." Signe clenched her jaw and continued walking with her silent Padawan, the Republic camp coming into sight.

"Did you have fun helping the General, Midget?" Naro asked as they approached the camp. Platoons were returning from battle and forming up while others were taking their brothers to the triage units.

"She had it under control."

Naro's helmet tilted in the typical "What?" fashion. "That was a lot of bad guys you slotted, General. Were our numbers off?"

"No, Naro. Spot on. I got them." Signe sat down on an empty supply crate and ran her hand down her face. Amiel looked at Naro with a crinkle between her eyes.

"Why the long face, General? Did Commander Law ignore your sexual advances in order to study tactics again?"

Signe looked at him with a thin smile. "No." Her com rang, and she answered it. A male human Jedi was on the other end. It looked as if the pixels on his head had missed a spot, but Signe knew that he had a genetic pigment glitch in his dark hair that made a white patch. He had it since she knew him at the Temple.

"General Ramseur here."

"General Amrun here. We're almost done. What's your ETA?"

"Forty-five minutes." General Guy Ramseur looked off-screen for a moment. "Lyda says 'hello' to Amiel."

Amiel stood near her Master and waved. "I say 'hello' back."

Guy Ramseur smiled and nodded. "Good to see you're alive, Sig. And you've finally gotten involved in a Republic victory. How does it feel?"

Signe wanted to tell him it felt cold. Like space. "It's an accomplishment, Guy."

"They'll be mailing you a plaque soon. It's got your name on it."

The laugh Signe forced was about as unbelievable as she expected. "Thanks."

"See you on board, Sig."

Signe put her com away and stood up. She could feel Naro and Amiel's eyes on her as she walked away and found Commander Law sitting with a datapad in one hand and his other arm being tended to by a medic. "General," he greeted her. His helmet was off and Signe noticed for the first time that his clean crew cut had really grown out. Had she not given him a chance to get it cut again?

"Picked up some trouble, Law?"

"Sure did. Just a scratch. Good to see you're well." Law smiled but didn't show any teeth. His face looked weathered as if he was much older than Signe, and the dimming light of dusk didn't contribute to any sign of his youth.

"Commander Law!" came a voice from several paces away. Sergeant Rem Meshkad, helmet bobbing on his belt, came jogging toward them. "When I tell you to get down, would you just _do_ it instead of watching the battle with your mouth open?"

Law shrugged as the medic gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked off to tend to the other wounded. "I don't take orders from Sergeants."

"That was a joke, right?" Rem asked. He had bushy dark eyebrows that looked rather menacing when lowered. His black hair was gray around the edges, and Signe felt a little strange thinking he appeared handsome. Maybe it was the silver and green armor that attracted her.

"Yes. My mistake, Sergeant."

Rem rolled his eyes. "I really despise your formalities. Would you just call me 'Rem' or '_shabuir_' like everybody else?"

"Sure, Sergeant."

Signe covered her mouth as she felt a smile creeping up on her. "Law sticks to the book, Sergeant. I've tried to loosen him up, but it hasn't worked."

Rem's brow lifted. She could see the gears turning in his head as he thought about every mode of loosening a man up. Law wasn't paying attention when he asked, "Would you like to hear the numbers, General?"

Signe wrapped her arms around herself as a cold breeze whisked past them. She hated the numbers. "Go on."

"1,249 casualties, 682 injured, 567 dead. Reports indicate this was a Republic victory. Not terrible statistics, are they, General?"

Signe's eyes were on the toes of her boots. 567 dead. She wondered if each of them were as brilliant as Sprocket, as funny as Naro, or as strict as Law.

"General?"

"I suppose not, Law."

**CIS Armaments, Saleucami, Outer Rim**

"Are you aiming that gun at us?" Morj asked over the com.

"No!" Sprocket insisted. "What gave you that idea?"

"I'm looking up at the barrel right now!"

Sprocket switched to a private com with Jatne and turned his head toward him. "They caught me."

Jatne gave Sprocket a thump on the back. "Just deactivate it, vod."

"You commandos are all work and no play," Sprocket said as he yanked a panel off of the anti-aircraft turret. It seemed as if the CIS compound was unoccupied--or at least not patrolled--so the squad decided it would split up to take out the dozen turrets in that particular compound. Two other squads were working simultaneously at other locations to prep for the invasion in this sector.

"That's because we actually work," Gev said. He was the only person Jatne knew who could relate the snarky grin he had through the sound of his voice.

"Aren't you cute," Sprocket muttered, bitter. A couple of sparks leaped out of the panel as Sprocket fiddled with the wires with a small cutting tool.

Jatne gripped his deece with a little more force than was necessary. The arid climate of Saleucami made him uneasy. He had never been in a place that was so uninhabitable, and it seemed strange to him that the Republic or the Separatists would care either way about occupying it.

"Done!" Gev announced proudly. "I beat you."

Sprocket scoffed. "At least I know how to rewire these suckers. You only know how to deactivate. My talent still surpasses yours!"

Jatne flinched. He didn't know why, but then he saw it--the trail of a rocket, and the high-pitched crescendo of an incoming missile. He hit the dirt and Sprocket landed beside him. The explosion was somewhere else.

"Man down!" came Morj's voice on the com. He sounded as if something was stepping on his chest. "Man down!" he repeated. "It's Gev!"

Jatne got up to a crouch and half-ran, half-crawled up a dusty slope that led to the adjacent turret. It had been hit about two meters too short to obliterate his brothers, but the impact had certainly reached them. Morj, with new scrapes and dirt on his armor, was struggling to get to his feet, and Gev was nowhere in sight. The turret had sustained most of the damage, and Jatne deduced that the pieces flying off of it must have been nearly as deadly as the explosion itself.

"I got you!" Sprocket said. He shot passed Jatne and got Morj's arm around him. "Can you walk?"

Jatne skirted around a piece of debris that was half his height and twice as long. He found Gev under it on the other side.

"I can walk," Morj replied.

"We need to run before they try again with the right trajectory. Jatne? Did you find Gev--"

Jatne dropped his deece and stopped listening to his com. Gev was in pieces. Literally. The sharp piece of debris had severed his left leg below the hip, and it was covering his right leg near the knee. He couldn't tell if it was still attached, and he didn't have time--there was a femoral artery shooting blood out his left hip.

Jatne froze.

_Remember your training, _di'kut!

_**Nonmaleficence**_**, Outer Rim**

Guy Ramseur was waiting at the bottom of the ramp when Signe stepped off of the transport ship, Amiel, Naro, Slon, and Law in tow. His Padawan Lyda stood beside him. When Signe approached him, he opened up his arms, and didn't let her escape a hug. He smelled clean and he was warm.

"We're never too old for a hug," Ramseur said with a chuckle as he let go of Signe. He started walking with her, and Amiel and Lyda trailed behind them speaking in whispers while the clones dispersed. "Kaden and I still know our secret handshake."

"Isn't the part where you pick up Avan a little awkward without Vannevar?" Signe asked.

"Well, we deleted that." Guy glared down his long nose at her. "You're not supposed to know any part of the secret handshake."

"It's hard _not_ to know it when you guys have reenacted it so many times over the years. Maybe you should do the secret handshake in a more secret place."

"No! Then what's the point of having a secret handshake if nobody sees it?"

"You'd better stop calling it a _secret_ handshake, then." Signe hadn't found herself smiling for this long since Oni was killed.

Signe, Ramseur, Amiel, and Lyda all stopped in front of Signe and Amiel's room in the dormitory quarters. The door had been left open, and a green-clad Mandalorian was standing looking at something in a datapad in her hand. Her helmet was seated on the bed next to her daughter. The muscles in Signe's shoulders went rigid. "Amyr?"

"General," Sigma Squad's training sergeant said, her gaze stony and serious. "I'd like a word with you. In private."

Signe looked up at Ramseur, who shrugged and put his hands on Amiel's and Lyda's heads. "I've got the Padawans, Sig. In you go."


	12. Machines

_A/N: The final chapteeeer! It's like the final countdown, only without Rocky Balboa._

_I think my mind wants to be done with this portion of the story so bad that it didn't want to write these last chapters. So if they seemed rushed or lame, I apologize. Just remember that there are going to be Order 66 __**shenanigans**__ coming soon! So keep a look out, and thanks so much for reading! It's been a lot of fun!_

Machines

_**Nonmaleficence**_**, Outer Rim**

The door slid closed behind Signe. The air in the room was stale. She was facing a woman not much older than a decade of her, the same height, the same tired eyes. Amyr wasn't what Signe expected without her helmet. She had a delicate nose and fair skin, and auburn hair braided neatly and wrapped over the top of her head. The hard lines over her eyes and around her mouth told a different story than her curled eyelashes and striking green eyes. If the kit wasn't any indication that Amyr Meshkad was no Coruscanti window-shopper, the glare on her face was. Signe wanted to back up against the door.

"Please have a seat, General."

Signe had long forgotten that this was her own room. She sat down in one of the plastoid shell chairs along the wall of the front of the room. She clasped her hands in her lap as if she was ready for a lecture. When was the last time she had been yelled at? Master Dagen?

"I'm sorry about Oni," Signe blurted.

Amyr's eyes hardened. "Everyone dies. You do everything you can to avoid it, but there's always the chance that something will take what you love."

Swallowing, Signe realized she had been staring down at her hands. She forced herself to keep eye contact with Amyr. She figured Amyr found out about her relationship with Oni one way or another.

"Now is the time you see what you're made of. You haven't thrown yourself into any explosions or put your lightsaber through your gut, and you haven't left your men. That's good." Amyr had her arms folded over her stomach. She started pacing as she spoke. "But not good enough."

Still silent, Signe suddenly wanted to do one of those things. She didn't want to hear how she wasn't "good enough." She _knew_ that.

"My husband says you're a weak General. You don't have to be a good general with a clone commander at your side, but my husband thinks you're going to get yourself killed." Amyr paused and arched a brow at Signe as if expecting some sort of rebuttal. "Do you think you're fit for this?" There was a long pause, the only sound in the room a small creak from the bed Tracyn was sitting on. "Well?"

"I don't know!" Signe clenched her jaw. "I don't know how to lead troops. I don't know how to train my Padawan so she doesn't get killed when I mislead her. I don't know how to keep my chest from aching when I see my men die. I don't know how to stop myself from enjoying every life I take in battle--it's the only permanent solution to anything in this war. _Killing_." Signe covered her face with her hands. "I can't do anything right, not even for Oni. I would be better off anywhere but here." She trailed off for a moment. "I see what I am now. I'm just a screw up with some lightsaber tricks who couldn't save one clone's life."

Signe felt hands closing around her wrists, and suddenly she was yanked to her feet and her hands were pried off of her face. She sensed a wave in the Force, like cold water was splashing her in the face. She held her breath as she stared into the Mandalorian woman's face.

"You don't get it, do you?" Amyr's voice was acidic. "You're a Jedi, Signe. You are not allowed to be a normal person. You are not allowed to let anything get in the way of your duty. I would have sympathy for you because you were born into this, you had a choice when you weren't old enough to make the decision, and you didn't know there was going to be a bloody war. Nobody ever knew to prepare you for this." Amyr's grip tightened on Signe, to the point that it hurt. "But _look at you_. You're pathetic. How _dare_ you even think about deserting your men. They need you more than you ever needed Oni."

Signe's breath caught in her throat. _Desertion_. That's what it was.

"Remember when Amiel ran away?" Tracyn said in a small voice. "She felt really bad. I could tell. What would you feel like after you left, Signe?"

Signe looked down. She hadn't thought about what would happen after she turned her back on the men, but a twist in her gut gave her a hint. "I would wish I was back here," she concluded aloud.

Amyr let go of her wrists. "That's what I'm here for. Tracyn and I will be fighting alongside you from now on. I'll give you a crash-course in leadership, the _Mando_ way."

Hands balled into fists, Signe nodded. "I would like that, Amyr."

"No more Jedi Masters telling you to tickle your brain's pleasure center to make the hurt go away. We're going to build you some backbone."

"Okay," Signe said with some resolve.

"You've already got a solid start, from what I've heard."

Signe's cheeks turned a little red. She didn't know she wanted the approval of Amyr, but suddenly receiving a compliment from a Mandalorian warrior made her feel a little better about herself. She snapped out of her moment of embarrassment when there was a knock on the door. There was a pause where Amyr watched the door, and Signe remembered that this was her room. She opened it.

"General!" Rem Meshkad shouted. He grabbed her face in his hand and looked it over like a physician. Then he let go and looked passed her at Amyr. "You didn't hit her, _cyar'ika_?"

"I'm a lower-ranking officer now, _Rem'ika_. It would be in bad form. Also, it's _Captain_, Sergeant."

"Oh, Captain, my Captain," Rem said with a dreamy sigh. Signe scrunched up her nose.

"Not now," said Amyr with a smirk.

"Daddy!" Tracyn slipped off of the bed and bounced over to her father to hug him around the waist.

"I've missed my little ladies!" Rem said, rapping his knuckles on Tracyn's helmet. "What's the plan now, _cyar'ika_?"

Amyr picked up her helmet and smiled at Signe. "Introduce me to the troops, General."

**CIS Armaments, Saleucami, Outer Rim**

Morj was getting dizzy. He couldn't breathe.

"Jatne!" Sprocket said. "Hurry!"

Morj's fingers closed around his medpack and he handed it to Sprocket, who threw it toward their brother. Morj winced and felt his knees give under him, and Sprocket tried desperately to keep him upright. "I'm going to lose it," said Morj. "Listen. Jatne, get the foam coagulant--" Morj weezed. His vision was blurry but he could see two gray figures in the dust, one kneeling over the other. Gev was in bad shape. Morj saw that he had been maimed, and there wasn't a lot of time.

"Sprock, I can't breathe," Morj said on a private channel with him. He didn't want to distract Jatne. "Call in a medevac. And figure out where I'm bleeding--probably my chest--"

It was nausea and vertigo all at once, the world spun, and the last thing Morj remembered was the ground coming up toward his face.

**Medbay of **_**Nonmaleficence**_**, Outer Rim**

There was cold metal touching his skin, and that woke him up with a start. Morj's eyes were accosted by bright white lights and the glint of the medical droid examining his chest. Things got dizzy again.

"Rib four and rib five were fractured proximally with disarticulations of the costochondral cartilages. A minute pulmonary contusion was also detected. Thoracic cavity was stabilized with foaming coagulant, fracture and lung mended with bacta soaks."

Morj nodded at the droid. The term he learned for that injury was "flail chest." The broken Basic seemed to be the droid's attempt to "dumb down" the usual jargon it used to communicate with its fellow droids.

"Discharge estimated in two hours."

"What's the status of RC-0329?" Morj asked the droid.

"No such unit in my databases," the droid replied before it rolled away to the next bed.

Morj tried to control his heart rate from spiking and prompting the droid to come back. Gev was dead. Where was his squad? Were they being separated? Morj couldn't even move his head to look around the medbay--his muscles were so sedated that he was lucky his eyes moved.

Suddenly, a young woman came into his peripheral view, accompanied by a commando with black markings on his armor. "Lyda! Jatne!" Morj said. The force of talking made him wince.

Warm hands grabbed onto his. He could faintly detect the soft skin of the Padawan, and his eyes worked hard to focus on her face. Her hair was messy and the frown on her face could have caused him even more physical pain. "Morj, I was so worried!"

"I'm fine." He looked at Jatne. "Where's Gev, Jatne? Where is he?"

A med droid intercepted Jatne, literally hitting him in the shins. "Biohazard! Error! Error!" It began spraying Jatne's armor with a disinfectant, washing traces of blood from the plastoid plates.

"Morj, Gev's--" Jatne huffed and shoved the droid away. "Gev's okay."

Morj felt his hand relax--he must have been squeezing Lyda.

"But he's not coming back."

"What do you mean, 'he's not coming back'?"

The droid kept shoving Jatne, causing him to take a couple of steps backwards. Other droids were closing in on him. "He's in surgery. He needs new legs and they don't have any for him--he's getting transferred!" Morj watched as Jatne swore and turned to leave the medbay before the droids started attacking him. "I'll be back later!" he shouted.

Lyda gently grazed the back of her hand against Morj's cheek. Her sweet face was turning red and Morj was afraid she was going to cry--she must have felt what he felt.

Morj conjured all of his willpower and managed to lift his hand and grab onto Lyda's forearm, the closest he could get to her hand. He shut his eyes and held on to her, wanting never to leave the bed or the medbay or the ship ever again.

Outside of the medbay, Jatne finished shouting all of the swear words he knew at the medical droids just in time to receive a transmission from Sprocket.

"Hey, Jatne. Gev's surgery is almost done. He's stable." Sprocket paused and seemed to want to lighten the mood, or at least change the subject. "General Ramseur was on board earlier and I tried to set up a meeting with you, but he just had to ship out."

"_Osik_," Jatne muttered, trying to calm himself down. He didn't hold in Gev's blood with his own hands to have him taken away, then get insulted by a stupid droid about how he was "unclean." "What about General Ramseur's Padawan?"

"What about her?"

"She's with Morj right now."

Sprocket guffawed. "Commander Kala and Morj? Is that it? That's--wow."

Jatne gritted his teeth and wondered if Morj would be mad now that Sprocket knew exactly who he was with. "What level are you on? I'll come meet you."

"Here's the room number. I'm waiting outside because nobody's letting me in."

"All right. I'll be there soon." Jatne ended the transmission and began walking, mentally preparing himself to say goodbye to Gev. He wasn't sure if he could do it.

Jatne made his way to the nearest turbolift, one of the few clones wandering the halls alone. The floors suffered at the friction of boots and droids and cheap transport carts, no surface of the ship untouched by the whereabouts of the war. He stepped into the turbolift, turned, and was surprised to see Amiel running toward him. He held the door for her, and she stepped in, out of breath.

"I thought you and General Amrun were being shipped out," Jatne said.

"Lyda told me what happened to Gev, so I decided to come and see him," Amiel said between belabored breaths. She smiled faintly. "You guys can't seem to stay out of trouble."

Jatne watched as Amiel flipped her hair over her shoulder. It was shorter, wavy, and not braided. He wondered what it would feel like to touch it. She lifted her eyes to him and squinted as if she could tell he was staring at her, even though his helmet wasn't quite turned in her direction.

"Jatne?"

"Yes?" Jatne popped off his helmet and held it at his side so he could see her without a visor between them.

"I can't ever be sorry enough for what I did to you. And I didn't want you to leave again without letting me say that."

Jatne looked down, his brow furrowing.

Slowly, Amiel moved closer to Jatne and wrapped her arms around his torso. "I'm so sorry," she said into his shoulder. "It's all my fault. You didn't deserve this. I made a stupid, selfish decision, and I can't stop regretting it."

"Amiel," Jatne murmured, hesitantly returning her embrace. The turbolift stopped and the Padawan reached out and pushed the button that kept the doors closed. "A little flash-training is a small payment for being free of whatever happened to me."

Amiel looked up at him, her eyes glassy. He tentatively rested one of his hands on the back of her head, and he imagined what her hair must have felt like through his glove. Finally, she smiled and let go of him. "I'll find a way to make it up to you," she said. "I promise."

**LAAT/i Transport, en route to Republic lines, Outer Rim**

"Ladies!" Rem said to the platoon. The clones looked at the silver-clad Mandalorian, seemingly deadpan. "As most of you may know, my wife and daughter have now joined the ranks. Meet Captain Amyr Meshkad and Tracyn!"

The clones waved to Amyr and Tracyn, who were standing near the cockpit with Signe.

Rem looked dramatically from helmet to helmet. "As a result, participation in the 'Show Your Junk' game must cease."

"What?" one of the clones demanded, outraged.

"But Sarge!" another pleaded.

"Thank _Manda_," another said with a sigh.

"You actually play that game?" Signe asked the platoon. She had heard rumors of clones trying to prank each other by--well--stripping, but she had thankfully never been on the short end of the stick in the game. Signe sighed and wished she hadn't just thought of that pun.

"All the time!" a clone said, laughing.

"General, won't you overrule him?" one of the clones nearest to Signe asked.

Signe grinned shook her head. "I can't be responsible for the debauchery of a nine-year-old."

"Daddy!" Tracyn said, stamping one of her feet. She stood out in the dark cockpit like the clones, since she had painted her armor white. "What's this game? Can't I play it?"

"Absolutely not!" Rem shouted.

"Oh," Tracyn said. The clones started laughing.

"Okay, Sarge," the lieutenant of the platoon said, a smirk evident in his voice. "Just don't pull a fast one on us."

"It's tempting," Rem said with a shrug. Then he grabbed Amyr and pulled her against him. "But I think I'm only gonna play with this one right here."

"What an honor," Amyr muttered, acerbic. She pounded her fist into one of his chest plates.

The clones burst into another round of laughter. Signe couldn't remember the last time she saw a group of clones in such high spirits, and this platoon wasn't devoid of sorrows.

"Psst!" Tracyn said, tugging on the sleeve of Signe's cloak.

"What?" Signe whispered, kneeling so she was close to Tracyn.

"What happened to your other lightsaber? Why did you need two? I really want one!"

Signe pursed her lips to avoid smiling. "I had two because my old Master gave me this one. It belonged to a former Padawan of his."

"And the other one--you built it, right? Where is it?"

"Yes, I built it. It was destroyed in a duel."

"Oh," Tracyn said, toning down her excitement. "Was that when Oni--" she trailed off.

Signe nodded and Tracyn patted the Jedi on the hand. The slightest movement of Tracyn's helmet showed her attention changing to another place. "Ew. Mommy and Daddy are kissing."

Signe looked over her shoulder and saw the foreheads of Amyr and Rem's helmets touching. Smiling, Signe rapped Tracyn's helmet with her knuckles because to her, the collision of two pieces of metal was hardly _kissing_.

**Living Quarters of **_**Nonmaleficence**_**, Outer Rim**

"So your ribs broke, is that what happened?" Sprocket asked.

Morj nodded. He was sitting with only his fatigue pants on, and his chest was still wrapped in bandages and bacta soaks putting the healing touches on his wounds. "Nearly half of the victims of this kind of injury die. So I'm lucky."

"We're not," Sprocket joked.

Jatne was waiting by the door. Gev was going to come by so they could say their farewells. Jatne was tempted to scribble his thoughts down on his datapad because he had a lot to say to Gev, like how he was the first one in the squad to make Jatne feel welcome, and he was responsible for keeping them all sane. Jatne had no idea how to express any of that, and the weight of the words seemed to sit in the back of his throat like a large rock.

There was a knock on the door before it slid open. Gev was sitting in a wheelchair (because hover chairs were expensive), one of his legs severed under the hip, and the other amputated below the knee. He had bruises on his face but he was grinning. There was a purple Twi'lek Padawan pushing his chair.

"Commander Inada!" Sprocket said, standing up. He started laughing. "What are you doing with this joker?"

Commander Sennia Inada smiled, and Jatne felt his chest heat up. "Gev's an old friend. I guess."

"Yep!" said Gev with a crooked grin. "Commander Inada and I go way back. Like six months or so."

"Lyda told me what happened," Sennia said, gently ruffling Gev's hair. "I thought I would keep Gev company while he gets settled on the ship."

"Yeah, _vode_--did I tell you? They're stationing me on the _Nonmaleficence_ as part of the tech crew."

"You'll be sitting on your _shebs_ while we hoof it across the galaxy?" Morj asked.

"And you get a prissy gray uniform?" Sprocket asked with more fashion enthusiasm than was necessary.

"Yeah! And legs!"

"Legs!" Sprocket cheered.

"Oh, and you got promoted, Morj," Gev added. Morj's brow lowered unpleasantly. "Did you know General Jusik quit?"

"Really?" Morj smirked. "Picked up some _Mando_ armor and quit? Smart kid."

"Gev!" Sennia chided. "Don't gossip!"

"What do you expect, Commander? We're clones! Gossiping is like an ego trip for us!"

Sennia sighed. "I'm tempted to roll you down a flight of stairs."

Gev ignored her comment and glared over at Jatne. "Stop looking like you're about to cry! _Jat'ika_, no one's going to tease you about Amiel anymore, or how your ear looks like an over-cooked bean. You should be happy!"

Jatne rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, ashamed that he really did look like he was about to cry. Gev wheeled over to him and hit him on the leg. "Stop it! Look, if you're really going to miss me that much, I'll just record myself talking and you can listen to it before you go to sleep at night."

Jatne chuckled, then started to laugh. Sprocket came up beside him and squeezed his shoulder. "And we can go visit Gev on the bridge while he's doing important stuff, like checking his messages and surfing the HoloNet."

"Can we really visit you, Gev?" Jatne asked.

"I'd get mad if you didn't!" Gev reached out and grabbed Jatne's hand. "_Ratiin tome, ner vod_."

Smiling, Jatne gripped Gev's hand tightly. "_Ratiin tome_."

Sprocket grumbled and took out his datapad. "'Always together.' Cute. Hey, remember when you promised to teach me Mandalorian, Gev?"

"Nope!" Gev said, wheeling himself backwards to Sennia. "Quick, let's go!"

"It was nice meeting you all!" Sennia said hastily as she turned and took Gev out of the room.

"You suck!" Sprocket shouted after them.

"I'm gonna miss that _shabuir_," Morj said with as much sincerity as Jatne had ever seen in him.


End file.
